Better than Black Mesa
by SilverSatori
Summary: The highschool AU nobody asked for. Includes characters from Aperture Tag and Portal Stories: Mel. (RP Collection from tumblr aperture-science-academy)
1. Introductions

Hello, everyone! I've decided to run a Portal blog and it sort of turned into "I write random scenes if I want to". So I thought, since this has turned into half a fanfic compilation, I'd upload it here as well.

The blog is called betterthanblackmesa on Tumblr (can't include a link, this page kills them, but you can figure that one out). I do mostly random scenes, but also announcement stuff etc and the occasional artwork, right now it's (still) character interpretations. It's an ask blog / open rp, so please feel free to send stuff!

Anyway, here's the cast list ~

* * *

Gladys Miller here. You know, the only one that can run this place.

(Could somebody shut Tim up, before I really send him to space. Permanently.)

The elections are held and the names for the commitee are assembled (I don't know how some of you got in here; "Family comes first" is the most stupid thing I've ever heard.)

The results:

President: Me (who else?)

Vice: Helen Core (Morality)

Ethan Wheatley (Why? How? Who thinks that's a good idea?)

Chell Catania (Ugh...)

Virgil Hansen (Great. Another troublemaker.)

Mel Carpenter (At least she isn't as annoying as everybody else.)

Tim & Alyssa Core (Space and Curiosity are only in here because Helen wants an eye on them.)

Julie Core (Object me and she can give you her famous poisonous cake.)

Stephen Core (If his facts were only correct…)

Richard Core (One more to keep from making something that explodes at the wrong time.)

David Core (And people tell me I have anger issues. Pah.)

Benjamin Riley (Always good to have an eye on your security chief)

August Applebee (my little administration puppy)

And of course, our great Director Mr. Johnson is supposed to is the one making decisions in the end.

(Well, actually Caroline is the only one who knows what's going on. Family ties aren't that bad after all, I guess.)

You can ask any of them, but it will probably end up with me anyway.

That's all for now. Get back to work!


	2. Project Eagle

Project Name: Eagle

Project ID: 399-793

Version Num: 10_03

Test Priority: Medium

Effective Date: 10/19/15

Project Manager: Gladys Miller (absent at time of testing)

Prepared by: Nigel Dunn

Review by Gladys Miller

Test Subject ID: HCA-71_54

Test Subject Name: Virgil Hansen

Age: 17

Test Objective: Control Group of the Repulsion Gel Test Initiative (that's not an objective)

 **Step 1:**

Spreading blue paint on the test floor (concrete)

 _Special remarks:_ None

 **Step 2:**

Test subject is led to the course

 _Special remarks:_ Test subject was initially *Mel Carpenter*; HCA-71_54 volunteered instead; no verbal communication from the female part (looks like he wanted to impress her)

 **Step 3:**

Test subject jumps off the platform

Expected result: No repulsion effect

Actual result: as above; on the contrary, test subject fell to the ground, the sound was a bit like dry twigs breaking off in winter, I'm gonna have nightmares of this, I didn't expect that

(stop being dramatic, this is science - G)

 **Pass / Fail?**

Pass

 **Other remarks:**

I won't be held responsible, right? I mean, it was an approved test, it's not my fault that Swedish idiot fell for it.

 **Post-conditions**

uh... Aperture will have to pay for the medical treatment, right? God, that scream... And, uh, can somebody protect me from Mel? She didn't look happy... How does she even like that lying, stuttering... Nevermind.

I, Nigel Dunn, hereby confirm I have executed all tests as described.

Signature of reviewer: _Gladys Miller_


	3. Regrets

I'm hella into Virgil from Portal Stories: Mel. If you don't know it, go and play it, it's a fan-made game, and completely free. There is too few fanart of him (I did one, though), and far too few stories. This whole thing is a setup for later scenes, although I have no idea what will come out of it :P

Nigel is another core from the fan-made game Aperture Tag: The Paint Gun Initiative.

Enjoy

* * *

The screams had stopped a while ago. Nigel jumped when somebody tapped his shoulder. Helen, whom everybody just called Morality, stared down at him. Her face betrayed no emotion, but her hands were shaking and her eyeliner was smeared.

Trembling himself, Nigel got up. The others had mostly left, promising to come back later. Nigel was angry at them, but understood it. He wouldn't have liked to hear that. What were the chances that somebody was allergic to almost all anesthetics? He didn't want to know. Correcting one bone was a thing, both legs in around twenty pieces another.

It had been his first test, his first real responsibility, and payback. He still despised him, that Swedish, arrogant smartass. But he didn't want it to be like that.

Helen knocked on the door. There was no answer.

She knocked again, louder this time. "Hello? It's Helen. Can I come in?" A vague murmur.

"Stay here," she commanded and opened the door.

Virgil gave her a small nod and tried to smile. "Hey." His voice was rough.

Helen clenched her fists so hard it hurt. "I... just wanted to check on you."

"Thanks." He had a blanket drawn up to his chest, but the splints were clearly visible. His already pale skin now matched the blankets and the ginger hair was ruffled and drenched in sweat. There was a plaster on his forehead, where he had hit the floor after the first impact. "They say it will stop in a few days. The worst pain, I mean."

Helen nodded and shot a look at Mel, who had been sitting quietly beside the bed the whole time. Mel was the athlete of the school, winning every prize there was to win, something the director bet on for the next encounter with the Black Mesa students. She rarely spoke, but was always energetic and graceful. Now she had dark circles under her eyes and held the posture of a mistrustful watchman.

Helen walked up to the bed and touched the Swede's hand. There were red lines on his wrists where the nurses had to restrain him during the correcting procedure. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"Morality. That's what people call me. It's my job to take care things like that don't happen." She abruptly turned around and wiped her eyes with an angry swipe of her arm. "I failed. Forgive me."

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't blame you."

Helen shook her head, but didn't comment any further. Sometimes she hated her best friend. Gladys didn't understand why the tests took such a toll on Helen. Sometimes she thought she was the only one with a conscience or common sense.

"There's someone else who wants to talk to you."

For several seconds, nothing happened. Then Nigel poked his head in carefully. Mel shot in an upright position and even Virgil's eyes narrowed. "Oh," he said, his voice suddenly flat. "You."

Nigel wanted to be far, far away, but he entered the room and walked up to the foot of the bed.

"H-Hi. I'm here because H-"

Helen glared at him.

"I want to apologize," Nigel got out. No answer. "Listen, I... I didn't want this."

Virgil croaked a laugh. His throat was rough from screaming, but in the whole picture, that was only a minor detail. "It's not my fault that Swedish idiot fell for it. Was that your choice of words?"

Nigel gulped. "How..."

"Gladys had Wheatley hand back the reviewed reports. He sent me a photo."

"What?! He's not even supposed to..." Nigel looked at Helen, but she only shook her head. "I... I'm sorry. It was just..."

"Forget it," Virgil interrupted. "You don't like me, I know. Fortunately, you achieved your goal. My parents will get me back to Sweden in a few months." His hand closed around Mel's. "We'll never see each other again."

"I'm sorry." Nigel turned around and fled. After a moment, Mel got up and made a motion to the door. Virgil smiled. "Thanks for staying so long." She nodded and followed Nigel.

"Have a seat," Virgil offered with the attempt of humor. Helen shook her head. She had said everything she could. And now?

"It's probably better that way." Virgil shrugged his shoulders at her confused face. "Originally, Mel would have been the test subject. She'd go crazy without her training. I can still do my stuff. Just takes a bit longer to pick up a fallen pencil." He sighed. "Thanks for the visit, Helen. And thank Wheatley for sending me that stuff. My phone battery died before I could text him back."

She went to the door and stopped before leaving. "Nigel is fourteen. He learned his lesson."

Virgil snorted. "He better have. Goodnight, Helen."

She nodded. "Goodnight." Helen left and closed the door behind her.


	4. My favorite moron

"So... will this bring us into space?"

"No, kid, but it will make a whole lotta _boom_ ," Rick answered with a grin.

Disappointed, Tim leaned against the railing and scrutinized the area again. "But what about space?"

"Space is too huge your mind could even begin to grasp it. But it doesn't matter, because you'll never go there anyway," Stephen said wryly.

"I wanna see it all," Tim said, his eyes glistening.

Julie shut her twin up with a jab of her elbow before he could say anything else. Stephen growled and turned to a new page in his book.

"Maybe you could try this, if you're just letting us work." Julie handed Tim a pair of strange glasses. They were bulky, with a plastic case at the sides keeping light out, and the lenses were all black.

"What's that supposed to be?" Rick asked. He pushed his fake fedora upwards as he examined it.

Julie shrugged her shoulders. "Helen didn't allow any more cake sales, so I had to figure out something else to do. It's a kind of wireless projector, like a mini-movie theater."

"Leonardo da Vinci developed the first projector, the magic lantern, to scare away rivals trying to snatch his inventions," Stephen said. As usually, he was ignored, and ignored the fact that he was ignored. Instead, he pretended to focus on his book.

Julie put the glasses on Tim's face and pressed a switch on the side. The boy yelped in surprise and pain. Julie pressed a few more buttons, until he stopped squirming.

"Guess I need to adjust the brightness level. Anyway. Have fun. Just stay where you are."

"Space," Tim whispered reverently at nobody in particular. "It's so huge. I wanna see it all! Everything, everything! So many stars and comets and planets and..." The others let his voice trail off into a background mumbling.

"That should keep him busy for a while," Julie said. "The things I do when I'm not allowed to cook..."

"I think that's a good way to keep Spacey here from bustin' us," Rick said. "Never leave a chance to compliment a lady. Even if she's my little sister."

"Manners were invented in the 19th century by Arthur Turnure, the founder of the Vogue magazine," Stephen commented.

Julie put her hands on her hips and looked over the area. They were standing at the edge of the stadium. An iron railing separated the running track, where Mel was doing her usual disgustingly casual afternoon run, from a large patch of grass intended for something nobody remembered.

Rick wiped his hands on a piece of cloth, making them dirtier than they had been before.

"The penalty for relocating test objects without permission is mandatory volunteer work during the next testing phase," Stephen said.

"Ah, no worries." Rick adjusted his fedora again, unable to hide his discomfort completely. "I was born for danger." He hesitated. "Besides, Gladys is busy the whole day and there's nobody who'd sell me out. Before she's back, I've returned them to the test chambers."

"Spaaaaaaaaace," Tim chanted in the background.

"Nobody cares," Julie said to her twin, before Stephen even had the chance of starting a sentence. He scoffed and looked over the lawn, now filled with a dozen turrets in a complex pattern.

"This is stupid," he said.

"A book worm like you doesn't understand no desire for adventure!", Rick snapped. "What does a kid like yaself know?"

"You're sixteen," Julie said. "How do you have a right to call us kids?"  
Rick crossed his arms. "The two of you are 14. Even Spacosity are older than you."

"Age doesn't indicate intelligence. Or reason," Stephen said, and closed his book.

"Anyway, what are you trying to do here?", Julie interrupted, before a fight would break out. Mel shot them yet another confused glance as she passed them for the umpteenth time in the last twenty minutes.

"Well, lotta people come here. I'll just have to wait until a pretty lady doesn't pay attention and so I can rescue her. Easy."

"I don't think that will work." All three turned. Tim had pushed up the projector glasses and looked at them. He shrugged his shoulders at their unbelieving faces. "Who would fall for that?"

Then he put the glasses down again and was lost in his virtual reality. "Space, space," he sang. "This is so cool..."

The three Cores stared at each other for almost a minute. Eventually, Julie cleared her throat.

"Well... he's not wrong. The only one who'd be stupid enough to run into that would be Wheatley.

And I doubt you want to rescue him, damsel in distress or not. Even if you could outrun Chell."

Rick pushed the brim of his fedora upwards. "Hard to believe a moron like that could fetch himself such a girl. Any girl, really."

"Human trust is based on a substance called oxytocin," Stephen said.

"True," Julie answered Rick. "But by now you shouldn't be surprised about anything. How did Mel and Virgil end up together? Nobody knows."

"Only thing missing is August and Gladys..."

They paused and looked at each other. Then they broke into laughter.

"Not a chance," Stephen stated.

"Never saw Gladys interested in a boy. Or girl," Julie said thoughtfully. "And August is little more than a hyper-intelligent puppy."

"Yeah," Rick said. "But to get back to topic, I'm the only one who knows what awaits here, so I'm the only one who could possibly become the hero..."

They fell quiet at the sound of a familiar voice with a British accent.

"And then he told me, can you believe that, he told me I'm a moron! Can you believe that? But, uh, of course I couldn't say anything, because, y'know I'M not that rude, but really, how can he say that? I am not a moron! Uh... Does that nod mean yes or no?" He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I'll show him, I will, because I'm far cleverer than him and he's not going to go nowhere with that attitude..."

"Speak of the devil," Rick mumbled.

Julie looked at Stephen, who just shrugged his shoulders.

Wheatley and Chell rounded the corner, seemingly not even noticing the turrets.

"An inferiority complex is not likely to be cured by pretending someone is indeed great," Stephen provided yet another unrelated information.

Chell and Wheatley stopped at the end of the paved area. "Okay, I'd say this is a good place." Wheatley opened his bag and produced a...

"Where did he get that Portal gun?" Rick crossed his arms in defiance. "That's really unfair."

"Go and get yourself one, if you're so brave," Julie teased. Her older brother huffed and turned back to the events further away. Since they were inside a giant hall, voices carried over quite well, although Wheatley didn't notice anything. It would have been a surprise if he had.

"You're the one with the braces, so you gotta jump... unless you want me to end up like... him." Wheatley nodded in the direction of the stadium. A single figure sat in the ranks and watched Mel run her many, many rounds, like every day.

"Okay, then." He placed the first portal on the ground right in front of their feet, just on the edge of the stones. "Now, where could we put the next... ah." His footing wavered for a moment, but then he opened the next Portal on the ceiling.

Chell nodded and took a small run-up before jumping straight in.

"She's not-" Rick needed a moment to speak, dumbfounded as he was.

"We have yet another candidate for the Darwin Award," Stephen stated.

"Oh hell. Rick to the-" He almost fell over his own feet when Stephen and Julie simultaneously grabbed his arms and held him back. Adventure, what everybody called him, struggled, but couldn't shake them off. "What the hell, I gotta rescue her!"

"I wanna see how this turns out." Julie's blue eyes glistened with mischief. After a second, Rick gave up on trying to break free. "Hold on yer hats everyone, this is gonna be ugly..."

The momentum carried Chell out of the Portal. She soared through the air like an eagle, before landing on her feet in the middle of the lawn. In the middle of a dozen turrets that now turned towards her.

Wheatley dropped the portal gun in shock. _No, no, no!_ What was he supposed to do? There was nowhere he could place another portal, he had dropped the gun and Chell was only seconds away from being riddled with bullets. No wonder everybody called him a moron, if he hadn't seen that coming. Where did these turrets come from, anyway?

"What do I do, what do I do?" He was close to running in a panicked circle, but too frozen to actually do so.

Chell looked at all the red dots on her body. For a moment, it was perfectly quiet. Then she broke into a sprint, hearing mechanics turn behind her. She needed to lead them away, before Wheatley got himself killed.

"Target acquired," one of the turret said quietly.

Chell felt a vague rumbling beneath her feet, but had no time to pay it any attention. The turrets buzzed as they tried to follow her zig zag line of flight. She just needed to reach the end of the chamber. There should be a wall for cover with a door on the right. From the corner of her eye she saw something move, something big and dark with many spikes -

Something crashed into her. Gravity became irrelevant as she was suspended in mid-air. The feeling lasted only for a second before she crashed to the ground. The world spun in circles as she rolled over the grass, only vaguely noticing someone had grabbed her. The metal plate hit the ground barely a foot beside her. Her ears rang from the impact.

With a buzz, the plate retreated again, raining dirt and grass. Chell didn't move. The world continued to spin for several seconds, while something heavy pressed down on her.

"A-are you alright?" The voice was practically next to her ear. When her sight cleared, he was right on top of her, blue eyes and ruffled blond hair, and that slightly confused smile. They looked at each other for several seconds, until somebody (Rick, of course) let out a (jealous) catcall in the background.

Wheatley blinked, his brain finally catching up to reality. His face flushed bright red and he scrambled to get up. Instead, he landed on his knees, his legs shaking far too badly to carry him.

"Oh, oh, sorry, didn't mean to, uh..."

Chell shook hair and grass out of her face, as she sat up. The ground was compressed where the steel plate had hit, with deep holes from the spikes. Zig zag line or not, it would have hit her right on the spot.

"Not bad." Gladys' voice had a metallic edge over the speakers. "Really, I did not think you would be able to react so... thoughtfully."

"That was a TEST?", Wheatley exclaimed with honest indignation. "We didn't sign up for anything!"

There was a pause. "So?"

"So it's not that you-"

Gladys cut him off. She sounded almost amused. "It was interesting to see how someone with your mental capabilities would react to a... person in danger. I expected something stupid like this, but not that you would actually succeed."

"You... you..." He broke off when Chell placed a hand on his arm. "But..." She shook her head.

Gladys went on, ignoring the interaction. "As to you, Richard, I'll just overlook this breach of rules, as you brought us an excellent test. Don't do it again."

Rick cleared his throat and adjusted his fedora... again. "Uh, yeah... I guess I can agree on that..."

"Also, bring these turrets back where they belong." The speakers went silent again.

"Sorry, Rick, but I guess you just lost your hero status." Julie clapped him on the back. "Have fun cleaning up. I gotta go. Alyssa just texted me an amazing recipe I need to try."

"So, uh..." Wheatley cleared his throat. A small trail of blood ran over his lips where he had bitten down during the fall. His attempts at standing up looked more like a desperate crawl. "Sorry... about getting you into this, I guess. I should have seen that. Everybody says they're surprised why you even hang out with me, because they think I'm some kinda moron, which I'm not, but you gotta know that best because you're with me most of the time, and that's really nice, I think and I'm digressing, sorry, I'm so thoughtless sometimes..."

Chell touched his cheek and wiped off the blood, effectively shutting off the stream of words. Wheatley froze and his already flushed face turned an even deeper shade of red. "Uh... thanks, luv, I- uh..." Chell picked a piece of grass out of his hair and pulled him into a hug. After a few seconds, he relaxed. A bit. It was a strange situation, but... they could stay here. Like that.

"Uhm... Happy Valentine's Day, Chell."

In response she nuzzled his hair. _Happy Valentine's Day, my favorite moron._


	5. How to tame your administrator

The room was dim, except for a myriad of lights blinking. Although the whole facility was kept at a pleasant temperature, this room made everyone stop for a second. The frigid air was like a punch in the face. It wasn't yet cold enough to make your breath condense, but almost.

Gladys didn't stop. She was used to this and had taken precautions by putting on a thin, but highly isolating jacket. As far as the one she was visiting was concerned, that was what she always looked like, untouched by the temperatures. Everyone outside never got to see this. People didn't call her Queen of Aperture for no reason.

"Take care of the cables," a high-pitched male voice chirped.

Dutifully, Gladys stepped over the bundles criss-crossing the floor. The one she was there to see was at the far end of the room, separated by dozens of servers laid out in a nonsensical labyrinth. Only few found the way in time. That was one reason she rarely sent anyone else here.

The other one sat in front of a giant, semi-circular desk, filled with four screens. Some boxes filled with reports were piled next to him, every edge perfectly matching the one beyond. The whole room was so clean it could be called sterile. Somewhere in the background, an air filter was running.

The light of the monitor reflected on thick glasses that made the eyes behind it look gigantic. The figure in the light of the screens was tiny, only about five foot tall. He was wrapped in a thick coat and a scarf that could only be an ages-old heirloom. The thin, grayish-blond hair was cropped short and stood in all directions. Everything about August Applebee seemed washed out, gray and scared.

"Hello August."

He jumped from his chair like a jack-in-the-box and stood in front of her in the matter of a second.  
"Miss Gladys!", he beamed in his mouse-like voice that never seemed to get louder. If he was a dog, he'd be spinning in a circle from wagging his tail so much. "It's great to see you, excuse the mess, I would have cleaned up if I knew you were coming... I promise I'll do better next time"

Gladys looked around. There were two neat piles on the desk between the keyboards. Even the screens were more dust-free than anywhere else in all of Aperture. "Well, I suppose it's alright, seeing how I turned up unexpected."

August wavered, as if close to fainting from relief. "O-Okay." He scuttled back to his computers, almost jumping on the spot like a child. "How can I help you?"

"I'd like you to give me any info we have on Douglas Rattman."

Although it made her vaguely uncomfortable, she stepped up to the desk and stood behind him as he typed. It was hard to believe August was her age, even two months older. He didn't participate in any tests or even lectures, but managed all files and administration. He barely even left this room. Considering his mysophobia and ataxophobia, it was almost a miracle he could stand anyone in here. Then again, she was the only one that came over at any time. In this case, because she needed this information immediately.

Another humming sound chimed in, louder this time. For almost a minute, nothing happened. Then August slid off his chair again, and retrieved a pile of print-outs. In a drawer under the desk, filled with equal accuracy, he found a folder and put them in.

"H-here you go, Miss Gladys." His watery eyes behind the glasses sparkled with eagerness. "Can I help you in any other way?" Gladys took the folder from his hands and pretended not to notice him wince when she brushed his hand.

"You could... 'forget' that you gave me this." She waved the folder.

August stared at her, now squirming in discomfort instead of happiness. "But... that's against the rules..."

"Hm, yes, that's true," she said, as if she was actually considering it. "But you could make an exception. For me." She put on the best smile she managed. August drew in a sharp breath and flushed a deep, sickly orange.

"O-Of course, Miss Gladys. Consider it done. You, you were never here. S-Something else I can provide you with?"

"No." Almost as an afterthought, she added: "Thank you."

"You... you'll leave then?" Gladys had never cared about other people's feelings and so could not read them very well. But even she could hear the crushing disappointment in his voice.

"I have tests to run." She made a step back to give herself the space to turn around.

"M-Miss Gladys!"

She stopped, surprised. August had stood up and faced her, all five foot nothing and an extended hand shaking so much it was hard to say if he was waving or expecting a handshake.

"I'm glad I could help," he croaked. Gladys looked down at his hand. This was the first time he had ever spoken that firmly, or demanded anything for himself, indirect as it was.

"Me too." She shook his hand and once again pretended not to feel his whole body tense. The skin was cold and so dry it might crack at any time. August managed to hold on for three seconds before he pulled his hand back. "T-Thank you."

Gladys nodded and walked back to the door, leaving August to whatever he did except filing. Probably washing his hands and fighting a panic attack. It was the first time she had ever seen him actually touching somebody out of his own free will. Somewhere in the shut-off, sympathetic part of her mind, she pitied him.

The doors closed automatically and Gladys felt a vague relief when she took off the jacket and brought it back to her room. Eventually, she sat at her desk, her organizer and a notebook in front of her, and opened the file.

"Now then, time to see what Mr. Rattman had been up to lately..."


	6. Determination

Thanks to vinecat and ThoseRedLights! Your detailed reviews really made my day. It's the support we get that make authors keep going and that was more than a little :3

This is just a short one shot I wrote a while ago. (I am so messing up my timeline. This actually takes place much earlier.) Glad that people enjoy hearing about my version of Virgil.

* * *

With a hiss of pain, Virgil fell back into the chair. Mel shook her head as aggressively as someone could do that. The ginger crossed his arms in defiance, but didn't meet her gaze. He couldn't keep up the defiant silence for more than a few seconds.

"I know what you're thinking. I caught that pen when it came flying, and somehow I stood up for that. But that was then and now it doesn't work anymore. Simple as that."

Mel shook her head again and hunkered down, holding her balance with one hand on his knees. Virgil cringed a little, but she forced herself to ignore it. There was literally no medical reason a slight touch like this could hurt.

But alas, despite the braces all the way up to his thighs, every attempt at so much as standing had ended in a catastrophic failure. It had been months since the accident. Mel was the most understanding and patient person there could be, but even she was getting annoyed.

She could feel his golden-brown eyes stabbing at her for a second, but when she looke dup, he glared at the wall. "You think I'm behaving like a kid", he said. "That I'm useless." His hands clenched into fists. "Well, then take a number and join the others." The words came out more bitter than he had intended to.

Mel exhaled sharply and stood up. To hell with it all. "Virgil Hansen."

He winced, but still didn't look at her. Mel rarely spoke, and he had never heard her that angry. Her voice was cutting the air like a deadly quiet razor.

"Sorry to break your illusion." She hooked a finger under his chin rather harshly and forced him to look her in the eyes. "It's not your legs that don't work here. It's your head." She touched his forehead, as gentle as she could when her finger wanted to poke a hole in his wall of stubbornness. "You say you just can't -"

Virgil opened his mouth to protest, but she shushed him with a gesture. "- and I believe you. I know that you believe it. But the truth is, you're just afraid. The accident was horrible, I know -"

"Oh, do you?", the Swede snapped. He slapped away her hand and tried to ignore the burning in his eyes. "Because I don't think so. You're the champion, the one that wins at everything. And me? What am I to the others? Before, it was all about when Johnson finally manages to find a legal loop to get rid of me. Now it's what an idiot I was for falling for such an obvious danger. Nigel did this because he's a twerp and he despised me. But, the truth is, I'm even more useless than before.

Oh, and before we forget about that, yes, the accident was horrible. How would you know what that feels like?" Mel didn't say anything. Virgil growled when another wave of pain rushed through his legs. It ebbed off after a few seconds and he relaxed the tension in his muscles. "Thought so."

A tender hand touched his cheek. He wanted to turn away, but couldn't. He was stuck, because he had done something stupid, and it had ruined his life. Mel wiped away the tears he had not noticed falling. They burned, but were icy at the same time.

"You're right, what do I know? I can't comprehend what it's like to be alone with all these high expectations. Being pushed all the time, by people far away. How should I?"

"Mel..." She put a finger to his lips.

"Listen up, I'm not going to repeat myself. You're in pain and I'd be lying if I told you there won't be more of it. Much more." His attempt at shaking her off again was half-hearted and fruitless.

"You're scared, and that's okay. But if you want to walk again, that can't stop you. But if you just want to sit around and complain, you can just as well go back to Sweden. It has to be your choice. Nobody can take that from you."

She straightened up and stretched. "I have to go," she motioned and walked to the door.

"Mel." She stopped. Virgil needed several seconds to speak again, and when he did, his voice trembled. "I- I need your help."

Mel smiled to herself. She closed the door again and went back the way she had come. The ginger's bright eyes were clouded with tears, and he was shaking, but what she saw wasn't fear. It was anger, the rage of a desperate 17 year old who didn't know his own worth.

"I'll try. I promise you, but... I can't do this alone."

Mel smiled and took his hand. Virgil looked at her and then his legs. The anger seemed to dissipate into thin air, replaced by a look of sheer panic. A visible shudder ran through his scrawny body when he exhaled. "Well, I... I guess we gotta start then?"


	7. Family issues

This is multiple parts I was too lazy to sort into separate documents. They're one plot anyway, so enjoy.

* * *

She found him staring out over the lawn, exactly where she had left him an hour ago. Then again, he wasn't exactly prone to walking anywhere. It was the little things that slowed you down. Like having your legs shattered to pieces three months ago.

He almost jumped out of the chair (metaphorically) when she touched his shoulder.

"Ah... uh, Mel, hi," he stuttered. "I thought you were training."

She shrugged her shoulders. Technically, yes, she was even dressed for it already. But that could wait. Trusting her guts had never failed her. Right now they said a friend needed help. Well, and Wheatley. And Alyssa. And half a dozen others that liked to spread whatever was going on in minutes.

Virgil only met her gaze for a second before he looked away. "What happened? Is that what you want to know?" His usually subtle Swedish accent gave the words a strange, unfamiliar melody.

"Who told you?"

Mel only shrugged her shoulders again. She got a chair and sat down beside him. For a few seconds, silence hung over them like a heavy blanket.

"My father called," Virgil said. "They're coming over from Sweden for a few days."

Mel raised her eyebrows. That was the first time Virgil ever mentioned his parents. He spoke of his uncle from time to time, but never his mother or father. She only knew he was an only child, or rather figured he was, since he never mentioned any siblings.

"He'll decide if I go back to Sweden or can stay here. It all depends..." He trailed off and absently rubbed his forearms.

"My family is minor royalty," Virgil explained, staring at something Mel couldn't see or even guess at. "Uncle Nikolaj is the main shareholder of the family company, and he managed to bring me here, but... Father can still decide where I stay until I'm eighteen."

He looked down on his pale arms with the colorful floral pattern. Mel had to smile at the memory. It had been an adventure getting him these tattoos. "The moment he sees me like that, I'm done."

Mel frowned. "Like that?"

The ghost of a smile flickered over Virgil's face. "Nigel keeps calling me a ridiculous punk and a sorry excuse for a rebel. Maybe he's right. Father would never allow me to, well, look like I do now." He tapped the silver earrings on the left side.

Mel laid her arms around his shoulders. For a split second, he froze, but then leaned into the embrace and rested his head on her neck. "I just wish they could delay it a bit longer. I'll turn eighteen in a month and then I'm free. Uncle Nikolaj has been paying for this all along anyway. He'd rather get me a cake for being so... brave." He chuckled weakly. "Even if it was illegal."

She pushed a strand of hair out of his face. They fell almost down to his shoulders by now.

She felt him sag a little. "I guess if I want this to go sort of well, I need a haircut."

Mel snorted. Her parents weren't exactly great, but at least they left her some space.

"Father is a tyrant, and a chauvinist," Virgil said, as if confirming her thoughts. "I don't even blame mother for never helping me." Mel didn't answer, but kept stroking the soft ginger strands. Again, it was silent for a few minutes. Eventually, Virgil let out a small chuckle.

"Okay, no haircut then. Serves me. Uhm... I guess I can take the earrings out, and a long-sleeved shirt... With a bit of luck, this might go..." He hesitated and his shoulders lost the last bit of optimistic tension. "I'm so screwed."

In the silence they could hear the background noise of people walking along the corridors, the occasional conversation and a camera. Nothing unusual.

Eventually, Virgil straightened up and put a little distance between them. He adjusted his tie for a moment, and then had to make a conscious effort to fold his hands in his lap to hide their shaking. None of it helped the red spots on his cheeks.

"Uhm... thanks. For listening to... to my pathetic whimpering."

Mel suppressed a shrug. Men were so clueless sometimes.

Virgil looked around as if he wanted to stand up and go. Mel was about to do so, since he clearly wanted to be a alone, but didn't. Her instincts were right. Without an apparent reason, Virgil froze and his freckled face went white.

"Oh, no. How could I forget that?"

Mel stopped and looked at him with an obvious question mark in her features.

He pushed a strand of hair behind his ear and then wanted to fix the tie again, but didn't. "I, uh, I just thought of something... Katarina will be here too. She's... my fiance."

Mel blinked at him. "What?!"

Virgil cleared his throat. "Uhm... I, I never mentioned it, did I... father is a, let's say, uh, "fan" of the old ways... he decided we would marry when we were kids. Kata is the daughter of another noble... who is dead, and Nikolaj is looking after her now... we grew up together, so she's the closest I ever had to a sister. I, uh, I guess, if I had a, uhm, match that was fine for him, we could prevent that... you know."

Mel shook her head, trying to sort out the important information from his stuttering.

"I, uh, guess a future Olympian _would_ make a good party..." He went even paler while his cheeks turned a deep shade of red. "Oh, man, Virgil, no thinking out loud...", he mumbled.

Mel sighed and leaned forward to plant a kiss on his cheek. He froze and blushed even more. She couldn't help but laugh at his flustered face.

"I, uh, I guess at least Nigel will shut up now... sort of."

Mel didn't need to ask the obvious question. "Father will be here next week, so..." He gave her a forced smile. "I... I guess I should walk at least a bit further than ten meters by then?"

* * *

"What is it about this super-important dude from Europe?", Rick asked and tipped his fedora back for emphasize. The lights had been turned down except for some of the smaller stage lighting, so they were sitting in a pleasant mixture of light and shadow.

"Director Johnson is very nervous," Alyssa said. "I wonder why." The statement was unusually brief. Ever since an "appointment" with Gladys, she had been strangely quiet. Her outburst of the namesake curiosity were cut short as if hitting an invisible brick wall each time.

Virgil hesitated, unsure what he should say. He was saved from saying anything, because Mel sat down in his lap, almost making him scream. The doctors told him pressure shouldn't hurt. They had no idea. He cursed himself for taking off the braces. They always cut into his thighs while sitting, even through the trousers.

But, for the sake of saving face (what a joke), he just laid his arms around her waist and tried to concentrate on the nice aspects. This whole relationship-thing was going pretty well. Nigel had not shut up, of course, but he didn't second-guess it either. Nobody did, for that matter, and that was good. Too many people couldn't keep their mouths shut around here.

After a few seconds, the pain subsided to the usual low background hum of displeasure. When he could concentrate on his surroundings again, he was met by questioning glances. Somebody seemed to have asked him something.

"Uh, sorry, what?"

Wheatley had the kindness to act as if nothing happened. What was going on with everyone these days? "Is that guy related to you? The boss mentioned his name was Hansen."

"Oh, uh..." He felt Mel give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Yes, he's... Christan Virgil Hansen, the younger. Do the math yourself."

There was utter silence for a second before everyone started mumbling at the same time. Wheatley stared into space for a second and one could literally see the gears spinning until recognition flooded his face.

"Bloody hell."

"No wonder he had the money for that fancy stuff," Nigel sneered under his breath. Virgil would have liked to tell that brat he was no different from anyone, he had to save for months to get these tattoos, but he didn't. If the little turd thought he had whatever kind of influence, it could only be for the better.

"So you're sort of a prince?", Wheatley asked.

Virgil had to laugh. "God, no, I'm not. My family was made minor royalty like a century ago or something, I don't know. Father behaves like he owns Sweden, but actually, the title belongs to my uncle. Oh, man, I hope Nikolaj will come too..."

"He sounds nice. Your uncle, I mean," Wheatley said. Wait, _what_? Wheatley was by far not such a twit like Nigel, but Virgil had the suspicion he was still pissed about being criticized in any way. They tried not to talk too each other too much.

"Are we supposed to do something specific?", Alyssa asked. "We could-" She broke off without finishing the sentence.

"Uhm... no... you could just avoid them altogether. Be polite and say hello and so on, but... well, don't talk about me. Please." He looked directly at Nigel, who began to shift uncomfortably, until he crossed his arms and mumbled, "Fine, whatever."

"Thank you," Virgil said truthfully. Tomorrow. It was looking better than expected. No need to panic.

"I looked him up," Fact said suddenly. "Your Father. He's not a public figure, but he's said to be..."

"A chauvinist? Yes." Virgil leaned his head on Mel's shoulder and she turned to kiss his hair. Nigel grimaced and looked away, but, what was more surprising, even Rick seemed a bit beaten down at the sight. So the rumors weren't rumors at all.

Virgil shrugged his shoulders. "No need to, how do you say it... make him better than he is. And, Mel... I, I guess it's good that your not the chatty one anyway, he thinks women are supposed to be quiet until spoken to." He paused and frowned. "That sounds even worse than I thought."

He almost flinched from the dirty looks directed at him. "Hey, I'm just telling you what he thinks," he defended himself. Silence. His smile turned from nervous to desperate and faded completely. "Come on guys, you know me, I'm not like that!"

"I already don't like him," Rick grumbled.

Virgil shrugged and was glad to have Mel here. Her fingers stroked his neck and prevented him from falling into a panic again, even though his parents hadn't even arrived yet.

"So, you're gonna play the nice obedient son and hope everything goes well?", Fact asked, skepticism written all over his face.

Virgil shrugged. He had rather not talked about this at all, especially with Nigel and Wheatley, but he couldn't avoid it either, it seemed. "I know, it... sounds ridiculous."

"Yeah, it does," Nigel interrupted. Rick gave him an annoyed glance and he shut up immediately.

Virgil closed his eyes and just counted down the list he had looked over a dozen times. "Number one. My... progress has to be enough in his eyes. That's the easiest, I dare say. I can't walk for very long, but it's close enough.

Number two... Manners. Stay out of his way. He likes his ass kissed, though. I only hope Director Johnson doesn't trip up on anything. And, Mel... I'm sorry, but..."

"Don't worry about that. You're a great match," Wheatley said. He was about to say something else, but hesitated at the looks he got, from confused over mildly embarrassed to angry. "Uh... did I say something wrong?"

"Thanks," Virgil said with a sigh and an attempted smile. In truth, he was surprised Wheatley of all people had figured out that aspect, adding to the fact that he behaved like he had been brain-washed. But that was the least of Virgil's problems now.

"Number three. He needs to think Mel is a better party than Katarina." He didn't like talking about his life like that, but since he mentioned her, he had to make a short explanation to who Katarina was. Then again, it was his _old_ life, right? It would be great to have Kata here as well.

"And number four."

"Your looks," Stephen concluded. "By his rules you can not feature... whatever he sees as inappropriate for a noble, I presume."

"And here I was thinking you always run around that fancy for another reason," Nigel mumbled. Virgil didn't look himself over. He knew his style. Dark brown shirt with the sleeves rolled up for now, golden-beige floral pattern vest with a tie, dark red trousers. His regular looks. Compared to the others... was it over the top? Just a bit?

"Wait, that is normal, but those gay- uh..." Rick interrupted himself because something Virgil had missed. "The tats and earrings are a problem?"

"Yes." Virgil paused. "Just... do what I asked. I owe you guys. Can we talk about something else now? Where are Tim and Chell, anyway?"

"Tim is busy playing Universe Sandbox, and Chell-" Wheatley broke off mid-sentence.

The room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Virgil closed his eyes. He should have known something would go wrong. The attention of the assembled students shifted to something behind him. Mel didn't bother and instead bent down to kiss him. It lasted longer than usual, but felt more like a statement than a real showcase of affection. Of course, that was the plan, but... Virgil had enjoyed this week. A lot.

"Nej, I think it would be best to continue the topic." The voice was so deep it could be compared to thunder. A heavy hand settled down on his shoulder and Virgil felt his body freeze. No. NO. Why...?

"It seems I was right."

Virgil needed all his willpower to even so much as turn his head. For sure, none of the others could miss the look of utter terror on his face, as much as he tried to stay calm.

"Father," he said. He wanted to sound firm and polite, but his voice trembled and was close to jumping into a pubescent, nervous falsetto. "I thought you..."

"Shut up," Hansen barked at him. His son flinched like a beaten puppy and fell quiet. The man was tall and had shoulders that seemed like they wouldn't fit through a door frame. The blond hair had grayed at the temples, and blue eyes narrowed enough to make them almost black in the diffuse lights stared down at them. He spoke with a strong Swedish accent, but unlike Virgil, he didn't sound the least adorable or even funny.

There were two women standing in the background. One was a frail, red-haired woman that looked too similar to Virgil to not be his mother, although her face seemed gray and lifeless, devoid of any emotion except a vague hopelessness.

The other was a stunningly pretty girl with almost white blond hair and a look of anxiety and anger on her angelic features. She could be a very mature ten-year-old, or a childlike teenager, it was hard to tell. She wore a conservative dark blue dress with long sleeves and falling down to her feet.

His father switched to Swedish. "Obviously, it was a mistake to let Nikolaj have his way. Look at you." He grabbed Virgil's wrist and ignored the yelp of pain as he inspected the tattoos. Then he seized his chin and forced his son's head to the side to inspect the silver earrings. His fingers left angry red spots on Virgil's pale skin. Snipping his fingers against a ginger strand, Christan Hansen straightened up and loomed over them again. Virgil said nothing. Even if he had known what, he couldn't have. He didn't feel Mel squeeze his hand, or that he was trembling. His mind was swallowed by a paralyzing terror, something he had hoped to have left behind. He had to concentrate on something, even if it was small like not starting to cry in front of everyone.

"Katarina will pack your things. We leave at eight."

"B-but..." He broke off at a blue-eyed glare, barely suppressing a frightened whimper. "Y-Yes Father."

"Good. Say goodbye to these... commoners, if you need to." Hansen turned on his heel and marched back to the door. The red-headed woman hurried after him with anxious eagerness. The blond girl hesitated, then shot them an apologetic smile and followed the adults.

After the door had slammed shut, it was silent in the huge room. Virgil rubbed his cheek and wrists. He would get bruises from that. Not that it was a big surprise. Fear was a funny thing. Crying was the most useless response to something... something terrifying. And yet it was the first response most people showed.

To his own surprise, his voice was flat and only quivered a little. "There you go, Nigel." The addressed jumped as if stung by a bee.

"Wh-What?"

"You wanted to see me humiliated the most, right?" Virgil shrugged his shoulders and gently tried to push Mel off his lap. She didn't move an inch, and when he looked up, her face was set in a stubborn frown. "Same for you, Wheatley. Hope you had your fun. I bet Director Johnson is glad to get rid of me. Mel, give me a hand?"

"No." She laid an arm around his neck, and after a moment, he complied and leaned his cheek against her neck. He couldn't make his father any more angry either way. Even if, who cared? He closed his eyes and felt her caress his hair. Only a second, until he left forever. He had no hopes he could simply come back after his eighteenth birthday. He could barely walk across a room and his father wouldn't let him. Not to speak of Cave Johnson.

The second ended. "I need to go. Was nice knowing you guys. Mostly."

He didn't address anyone in particular. "Mel..." She shook her head and stayed where she was.

"You're scared of him." It was more a question than a statement. And even stranger, Wheatley sounded surprised. Virgil just accepted it as part of a very strange day.

"Does he always treat you like that?", Rick asked. He was no more fearless than anyone, although he claimed otherwise. But it was the first time Virgil heard Adventure genuinely shocked.

He shrugged. "Does it matter? And don't start that friendship anime crap. Real life doesn't work like that."

Both Alyssa and Rick nudged Stephen before he could even start a sentence. Fact huffed and crossed his arms. "You don't even know what I wanted to say! And that's a fact."

"I need to go," Nigel said. Nobody asked him where he went.

"Mel, please stand up, I need to go. What time is it, anyway?"

"Quarter past four," Wheatley provided.

"I... I need to say goodbye to a few more people and pack. I'm not that fast these days, so would you be so kind-?"

"You'll just do what he says?", Alyssa asked. Her orange eyes were wide and nervous, as if she was expecting something to jump at her. Christan Hansen had that effect on people.

"What else should I do?" Virgil didn't give them time to answer and pushed Mel off his lap, this time with all his strength. She landed on her feet, but he regretted being so rough immediately. Maybe it was better. When they parted during an argument, it wouldn't hurt as bad.

"Was nice knowing you." Mel didn't look as if she was going to help, so he somehow struggled to stand on his own. He had made progress, a lot of it, and standing was not as hard as it had seemed only weeks ago. He clicked the braces shut and hoped he could make it to the door without falling. The pain wasn't as bad as expected. A deep breath and he would go. "Bye."

The decision was taken from him, when the door slammed open and Virgil's father marched in once more, as if he had waited there all along.

"You're still here?", he snapped in Swedish.

"Uh... oops," Wheatley chimed in with a nervous laugh. "Looks like my watch stopped working a while ago..."

Before Virgil could even so much as brace himself, his father's giant hand closed around his upper arm and he was running to keep up, leaving the others behind.

"F-Father, no, please..." He vaguely realized he sounded like his twelve-ear-old self again.

How he made it to the door was a mystery, with every step like walking through hot coals.

"Seems like you're much better off than expected." His father dragged him all the way to his room. Virgil kept his head lowered and focused all his will on not stumbling. At least like that he didn't have to meet the curious or mocking glances of the other students.

Katarina spun when they burst in. Virgil was shoved on the bed and collapsed there, panting. His legs were shaking so badly he barely felt anything else, least of which the giant bruise he would discover on his arm the day after.

"Hurry up. And get these ridiculous trinkets off your ear. I'll talk to the director now and get your papers." Christan marched out and slammed the door.

Katarina stared at him, a folded shirt in her hand. She had already begun to fill a big suitcase with Virgil's clothes and personal belongings. Virgil didn't look at her. He groped for a handkerchief and wiped his face. Katarina hesitated, then came over and sat down on the bed and hugged him.

"I'm so sorry."

Virgil let out a very short, almost soundless laugh. "Is that your hello after four years?"

"Hello, big brother." Her English was strongly accentuated, but clear and brisk.

"You've improved," Virgil said.

She smiled briefly. "Yes." A pause. "Does it hurt?"

"Not more than usual," he lied.

Katarina let go and leaned back to scrutinize him. "I think you look great. Nice motive, too." She laid a hand on his forearm. Her skin was icy.

Without Mel, this would never have been possible. She had been with him when they sneaked out every evening for a week, and held his hand all the time during the tattooing process. In retrospect, it was embarrassing how much he had squirmed, but he was still glad she had been there.

"Father will make me get them removed. But thanks."

"Nick won't let him have his way. Virgil, he can take care of you, just like he does for me. It's okay."

Virgil wanted to lean back and promptly lost his balance, falling back on the mattress. He didn't bother to sit up again. "No, Kata, it's not okay. But it's probably better if I leave. I never belonged here anyway. It's not like I'm the most popular guy or anything."

Katarina stood up and went back to sorting his clothes into the suitcase. "What about your girlfriend?"

"We're just friends. That was just... just because we needed an excuse for father. It's no like she's really my girlfriend..."

"Ah, attans bananer! Virgil Hansen, you're a goddamn idiot! Of course she is."

He had to smile. Now that English was his primary language, Swedish seemed very strange sometimes. Who else used a phrase like "fucking bananas"? "Don't be silly. I'm lucky she agreed to help in the first place..."

Katarina let out a snorting laugh. "Really?"

"I'm not a nice person, Katarina. I'm arrogant and I talk down to people, even if I don't mean to. Nobody likes braggers. Look at Wheatley. He doesn't get picked on that much anymore, but ever since he noticed he was good at playing the bad guy, he's gotten even worse."

It was silent for several minutes. Virgil just stared at the white ceiling, trying to control the pain, like he was supposed to. Sometimes he wondered if the doctor actually knew what she was talking about, in a non-intellectual way. Probably not. She wouldn't be able to do her job otherwise.

A knock sounded at the door. Katarina offered her hand, but Virgil denied any help to sit up, no matter how hard it was after the adrenaline had begun to subside.

" _komma in_ ," he called.

Mel opened the door and entered. Her eyes flickered over Katarina and the suddenly empty, impersonal room before she closed it behind her.

"Hej," Katarina said friendly.

Mel gave her a nod and then looked at Virgil. He didn't say anything. Katarina did, however.

She put down the last piece of clothing and crossed her arms.

"I've been trying to tell him you're not just pretending to be his girlfriend for Christan's sake, but he doesn't believe it. Maybe help?"

"Katarina!", Virgil snapped. At least he couldn't blush anymore. His face was still red from running this far. He hoped.

Mel raised an eyebrow. Virgil didn't meet her gaze, instead focusing on adjusting the braces. His legs felt like they were filled with broken glass. What felt like only a second later, Mel sat next to him and his head rested against her neck. "You're not going anywhere," she said. Katarina shifted where she stood, as if uncomfortable, but gave them a smile anyway.

"See, just what I said."

"But..." He sighed and shut up. "What am I supposed to do?"

Virgil's phone on the bedside table gave a distinct chime. Katarina handed it to him.

"Huh?"

A year ago, Gladys and her "team", which Virgil had been part of as well, had designed a chat program for the Aperture students, mainly because Johnson didn't trust any conventional messenger apps. Virgil rarely looked in, since it was just the usual chitter-chatter or somebody asking him something. He was in the student's committee after all, even though the post was not exactly demanding.

Right now, though, the open group discussion (the rumor box, as everyone called it) was going wild.

Johnson was having a loud fight with someone in the office. Helen, Gladys and even Caroline had left the room and taken to Virgil's mother and someone else that had arrived shortly after.

Somebody, Virgil didn't recognize the name, posted a photograph of them as they left. He had time to take in how sick his mother looked, and that Gladys was unusually nervous, much like Caroline. The only man was almost covered behind them, but seemed to be in a very intense discussion with Helen. He had gained a few pounds and lost a few hairs instead, but he was still the same man.

"Uncle Nikolaj is here?", Virgil asked, thinking aloud. Katarina gasped and almost ripped the phone out of his hand.

"He came to America with us, but... woohoo!" She grinned and spun around herself once. When her dress lifted a little, it revealed a purple bruise on her calf. "See, everything is fine."

"I wouldn't call that fine," Virgil muttered. "Father came all the way here to get me, not a chance he'd leave-" Another knock at the door interrupted him. This time, it was Gladys. And she didn't look happy.

"You should come down to the foyer. There's a Baron Hansen that wants to talk to you." Without waiting for a response, she spun and stalked away, high heels clicking on the floor.

Virgil cringed at the mere thought of walking just one more step, but Uncle Nikolaj wouldn't come up here if he knew Virgil could make it by himself. As far as Virgil was concerned, well-meant challenges were the world's favorite method of torturing him.

Mel laid an arm around his waist and helped him stand up. More like forced him to, although Katarina didn't seem to notice anything unusual. Virgil complied and his girlfriend (what a strange thought) led him along the corridor back to the staircase at a steady pace. It was better than being dragged along, but he still felt like screaming. Instead, he cursed under his breath in Swedish and earned a fake-reproachful glance from Katarina.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually, they reached the main hall. On the positive side, the pain helped him block out all the murmurs and the occasional sound of his name.

"Virgil." He didn't have time to even raise his head before Nikolaj petted his hair. He had to stand on his toes for that. Mel looked from Virgil to his uncle and then at Katarina.

"Uncle Nikolaj," Virgil said with a strained smile. "Could you please stop that?"

Nikolaj laughed and motioned them over to a chair. "Of course. Sit down, you had it rough after all." Virgil did so, relieved. Mel looked the man over. He was a bit older than Christan Hansen, with thinning hair more gray than blond, and many small wrinkles that indicated he liked smiling. He was around five foot five and seemed comfortable with ten pounds too much over the belt.

"You must be Virgil's girlfriend. Melanie Carpenter, correct?"

"I'd rather be called Mel," she said briefly.

"As you wish." Nikolaj folded his hands. "To get to the crucial point, I can't hinder your father from taking you back to Sweden. I can, however, promise that you can come back here after your eighteenth birthday, and if you are in a fit physical condition, should you wish so." He looked at Mel and his faded blue eyes gleamed. "Director Johnson assured me he could count it as an... excursion for cultural studies. Three weeks should be enough to get you back on your feet." He frowned. "Remind me, when was that unfortunate accident? I keep losing track of time."

Virgil suppressed a sigh and stared down at his knees. "October last year."

"Huh, and here I thought there was this guy who had his-"

"I get it!", Virgil snapped. Nikolaj just smiled. "Well then. Kata, please get the coats, it's cold outside. Mel, it was a pleasure meeting you. We'll take good care of your boyfriend."

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Thanks." He managed to stand up by himself, until Mel laid an arm around him again. If he wanted to say goodbye to the others, now was the chance, with everyone trying to get the latest news.

Fifteen minutes later they returned to the chair, where Nikolaj had waited. Helen was running around here somewhere and therefore out of reach, Tim was nowhere to be found and Nigel hadn't bothered to show up, which was a relief.

"It's interesting that you keep company with so many young ones," Nikolaj remarked.

"Huh? Oh, the Cores? They're all related. Tim and Alyssa, Stephen and Julie, Rick, Helen and David. Wheatley is sort of a distant cousin, I think? So that's that."

"You have to tell me more about this place on the flight. It sounds very intriguing. Funny I never looked into it."

Virgil gave him a curt nod. He could see his father plowing through the crowds, and the students jumped back from his path like he carried a contagious disease. Christan barely manged to come to a halt in front of them. His face was reddened and his eyes flashed in rage.

"We're leaving," he barked. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to drag his son along like before.

"Yes we are," Nikolaj said friendly and rose from the chair. Christan hesitated and then nodded sharply, before stomping past them. Once he had passed, Katarina appeared from behind a pillar like a ghost and handed out the coats.

"The car is parked in front of the main doors," she said. Virgil didn't want to think too much about it when they walked to the doors. One month, maybe just three weeks, that could almost count as holidays. That shouldn't be too difficult. If he came back... _when_ he came back, Mel would be impressed with his progress. And then he could go on a real date with her, like he should have asked her to long ago.

"Keep me updated, okay? Wheatley was behaving really strange today." He stopped before the doors opened. Mel let go to pull the collar of his jacket closed. "Thanks Mum," he joked.

"Don't let that asshole beat you," she muttered.

Virgil hesitated. Easier said than done. He didn't want to remember the time he had lived with his parents. "I'll do my best."

"Promise."

"I do. Uh..." He blushed. Mel smiled and kissed him. "See you soon."

 _I hope so_. He didn't say it aloud. Mel walked him through the door to the waiting cab. The sky was heavy with incoming snow. This would be fun to drive through, in the woods, to the next bigger road. Nikolaj waited at the opened rear door.

"So, then," Virgil began once more.

"Virgil!" Helen began shivering in her light shirt the moment she stepped out of the acclimatized school, but hurried down the path and came to a skittering halt in front of them. She pushed a stapled stack of papers against his chest without even asking.

"That's the new script. It's work in progress, but your parts are more or less set. Practice begins next month, learn your text, I'll send you the instrumental versions when they're done. And send some pictures from Sweden, okay?"

Virgil blinked, first at Helen, who now hugged herself against the cold, then at the papers.

"Uh. Okay? ...Alright, I guess."

"Get in, it's cold," Christan growled from the cab.

"Good call. Bye." And with that, Morality dashed inside again. Virgil looked at Mel, who just shrugged her shoulders. Earning a disapproving grunt from the cab, he kissed her one last time, and then let Nikolaj help him sit down next to Katarina.

The doors slammed shut and the annoyed and slightly nervous cabby could finally begin the drive. The sooner he got out of reach of that evil-looking man, the better.

Aperture vanished in the distance and was swallowed by the dark trees. Virgil leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the burning stare burrowing into him. Three weeks. As annoying as school was, with people like Nigel around, he felt a vague homesickness for Stockholm. Even with Nikolaj and Katarina to keep him company, he could hardly wait to come back. Until then, there was a lot to do.

The first snow began to fall.

Mel looked at the treeline, where the car had vanished, for a long time. Eventually, she turned and went inside again, to see Tim emerge from the staircase, looking as confused as a boy falling into a different world.

"Has anyone seen Virgil? I gotta ask him something." The question was met by blank stares, eye rolling or quiet snickers. He frowned, looking each one up and down.

"What? Did I miss something?"


	8. Flashback

Hey guys!

A while ago, there was the following announcement on the blog:

 _Cave Johnson here. This is NOT a prerecorded message. Dammit, I didn't expect to need this._  
 _Girls stay in their dorms and boys in theirs. Period. I won't say it again. If we find someone so much as crossing the hallway where they don't belong…!_  
 _And don't even think of covering for each other._  
 _End of message._

I got asked who had sneaked to whose room. So here you go, the whole story. This is set a while before the other stories, some weeks before Virgil leaves. Enjoy.

* * *

One second, the world had been warm and comfy, the next somebody slammed the door open with a bang. Chell was too drowsy to make any controlled movement, but managed to raise her head from its resting place, while her instincts screamed "Run!". The light stung her eyes, and then somebody ripped away the blanket. Her body instinctively wanted to snuggle up to the warm presence beside her, while her mind was suddenly very aware she was only wearing a tank top and shorts that took their name very seriously. Goosebumps crawled over her body the second the cool air hit her skin.

"What the-" Wheatley tried to sit up and groped for his glasses, his blue eyes dazed. He didn't get that far, because a big hand grabbed the collar of his tee and literally dragged him out of bed. For the first seconds, it looked like he would fall, then he somehow managed to get up.

The same person grabbed Chell's arm and without any perceptible pass of time, they were out on the corridor of the boy's dormitories.

"Rule-breakers," Aegis said. Nobody was sure if that was his first or last name, and in the end, it didn't really matter. He was a tall man in his forties, with a deep voice that never changed its tone or volume. His face displayed no readable expression as he stared down at the two teenagers.

Wheatley peered around on the corridor, as well as he managed without his glasses on. Pink spots began to appear on his cheeks as his brain caught up to the fact that he was only wearing boxershorts and a crumpled blue t-shirt. Chell tugged at her shirt without achieving anything and crossed her arms, trying to hold on to the last bit of warmth left.

"It is not allowed for girls to be here," Aegis stated. There were sounds along the corridor, sleepy murmurs and footsteps. Teenagers and reporters were like sharks. It couldn't take them much longer to find out where the racket came from.

"Just a second, luv." Chell looked up, her ruffled hair still covering her eyes, but Wheatley was already gone. There was a crash and a small sound of pain in the room. Aegis made a step forward, about to follow, but Chell stepped in his way. Her face burned even while she was shivering, but she didn't yield under the cold stare. Aegis glared at her for a moment before stepping back.

Chell winced when something smooth and warm touched her shoulders. She needed a second to recognize Wheatley's favorite jacket, the one that had begun as a costume for his "evil" musical persona. It was strange how more confident he seemed when he wore it. Maybe a bit of that magic would help her now as well. Chell slipped her arms into the sleeves and held it closed against her chest. He wasn't so much taller than her, but the hem fell down to her knees at least.

Wheatley gave her a strained smile and adjusted his glasses with shaking hands and rubbed his arm. Chell couldn't tell if it was to relief the embarrassment of the situation or if he was cold as well. He didn't look her in the eyes.

"You will not do anything unless told so," Aegis said. They could clearly hear footsteps that ceased before turning the corner, and whispers intercepted by a warning hiss. Rick, Tim and Stephen, if Chell had to guess. These three were always the first to come running if anything happened.

"Sexual intercourse is not permitted among the students," Aegis began his lecture. Chell looked at her feet, glad her dark hair could cover her face. She could feel Wheatley cringe beside her, unable to stand still for even a second. The whispers ceased like being cut off with a knife.

"W-We didn't... It wasn't like that, it was just, uh, uhm...", Wheatley sputtered. He couldn't finish the sentence. Chell nudged him and he fell silent. He would only make things worse by talking. She gave him a quick side glance for emphasize.

For a moment, he gave her a pleading gaze, as if asking what he should do. Then his expression shifted, turning into a look of cool defiance without a trace of any, even fake, guilt. He rubbed the scar over his left eye and crossed his arms. His clothes ruined the effect, but for Wheatley, it was so impressive it could be nothing else than an act.

"I will bring you to the director now," Aegis said. "He will decide what to do with you."

"Can we at least get dressed?" Wheatley's voice had a sharp edge that didn't managed to conceal its shaking. Aegis didn't even acknowledge the question and kept droning on and on about how they had broken the rules in the most embarrassing manner, probably waking every last student on this floor. Chell cuddled into the jacket and imagined a cube falling on the janitor's head. She had wished that guy would vanish forever after he was been gone for months without any explanation. Officially, he was Aperture's security manager, whatever that meant, so rumor had it he was on some top-secret mission. He should have vanished forever.

Aegis turned, seemingly having finished his speech, and marched down the corridor, leaving them no choice but to follow. It was early morning, but thanks to Aegis's unending lecture and the fact that intriguing news traveled faster than you could bring Tim to say "Space", half the school was up. Whispers and laughter followed them to the main hall leading to the director's office. At least there they were safe from curious glances.

Aegis left them with the command to sit down and entered the director's office. Caroline shot them a confused glance and asked if they wanted a hot chocolate, but retreated when Johnson called her into the office. When the door closed, the quiet of an early morning fell again, save for the humming of the air vents keeping the buildings at a steady temperature.

They sat, one empty chair between them, staring at the floor in awkward silence. What had started off as a fun evening watching videos and chatting, had turned into every teenager's worst nightmare. Chell pulled her feet up on the chair and hugged her legs against her chest, trying to get the jacket around them. The success was limited.

"I'm sorry, luv," Wheatley mumbled. Whatever James Bond villain act he could put on at times had crumbled again, and his cheeks were still tinted dark pink. Chell raised her head, but he didn't look at her. "I forgot about the room inspection. Didn't think he would turn up this early. This is all my fault." Chell only gave him a level look and said nothing. She wasn't surprised.

Time passed in uncomfortable silence.

"Uhm, luv, would you..." He broke off. Chell looked up and once again that strange shift happened, from the usual adorable, clumsy teenager to a colder, more determined person she wasn't sure she liked. Could a simple act, done long enough, change someone, twist his personality and make him something he wished he could be?

"You're shivering, luv. C'mere," he said. He slid over at the chair next to her and tried to pull her on his lap. Chell stiffened and didn't move. This might make things worse for them. On the other hand, he was right. After another second, she gave in and curled up as much as she could. Wheatley winced when her icy feet touched his skin, but kept quiet for once. Chell rested her head on his neck and wondered why all boys stayed this warm. Maybe not that warm, considering the shiver running through him. She tugged at the jacket in a questioning manner.

"What is it, luv?" They had talked for so long yesterday, her throat felt rough. She wasn't sure if she would be able to emit a whole sentence, much less here, where Johnson or Aegis could as well be listening to them. It wasn't necessary anyway.

"No, luv, it's alright. I'm fine, no need to worry, it's not THAT cold after all, I mean, yeah, a little bit maybe, but..." He broke off and shrugged his shoulders. Chell suppressed a sigh and huddled a little tighter into his arms, trying to give back at least a little warmth.

"So much for secrecy, then," he said after a moment. Chell nodded slowly. It was strange to think they had been right after all. "They", meaning basically everyone. It had been a surprise they became friends, at least to Wheatley. He knew as well as everyone that he was clumsy and didn't think before talking far too often. But he was a goodhearted person, loyal, and funny at times. Chell liked that, his openness and steady optimism. People called them the moron king and his mute princess. So why not turn it into the real deal? The awkwardness dissipated soon. Nothing really changed to the outside. They could go without any new jokes. Until now.

"Will Director Johnson be very mad?" Chell shrugged. Johnson was the least of their problems. It wasn't that he could kick them off the school or anything. A few test chambers would probably help clear her head, even if she had to watch out for Wheatley at the same time.

Heels clicked on the hard floor in a frantic pattern. You could hear someone at the end of the long hall even if it wasn't this quiet. Rumor had it Johnson didn't like people sneaking up on him.

"Uh, hello," Wheatley stuttered, looking around for the source. "What in the-"

Chell had never seen Helen that ruffled. Her long raven hair was open and had only had a very short meeting with a brush. The vice-president of the student's committee was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, only more crumpled, without one of her violet signature scarfs. The knots on her boots looked a little off and she wasn't wearing any make-up. To put it simple, Helen looked like she had been dragged out of bed ten minutes ago, which was exactly what had happened.

"Hey." The word ended in a yawn. "Sorry." She gave them a tired smile and held out the pile she had been carrying. "I took the liberty to collect these from your rooms."

"Thank God," Wheatley sighed. He let Chell stand up first. Helen had brought them trousers, a jacket for Chell, socks and even shoes. After they had slipped into the clothes, Helen even handed them a comb that she had picked up in the girl's room. Chell fixed her hair first, then proceeded to do the same to her boyfriend, ignoring his complaints and writhing. After a moment, she gave him a confirming nod and let go. Wheatley ran his hand through the blond strands, more or less ruining the effect again.

"How did you know?", he asked Helen.

She rubbed her eyes and zipped her jacket shut, suppressing another yawn. "More like who doesn't know?" They both drooped and Helen gave them a warm smile. "Try not to get caught next time, okay?" She couldn't hide her amusement as they both blushed again, but didn't comment on it.

A sound from the director's door interrupted them. It didn't open. Yet.

"I better get myself fixed up," Helen said. She looked around at nothing in particular. "Oh, and maybe don't mention me?"

"Of course," Wheatley promised immediately. "We won't, no one will hear about you, scout's honor, not a peep, not a word - ow!" Chell nudged him again, just for good measure and then turned back to their unexpected savior.

"Thanks."

Helen stared at her for at least five seconds, before giving her a nod and hurrying down the corridor again. Not a moment too early. As soon as she had turned a corner, the door opened. Chell was just quick enough to stuff the comb into her pocket before Aegis stepped out. His usually unmoved face ran through a variety of emotions in just a split second, surprise, suspicion, anger, and then returned to expressing nothing at all.

"Come in," he ordered. They did so. Caroline gave them a bright, confused smile and then looked at Johnson for confirmation. He didn't give any, just stared at them. Even though he was dressed in a spotless suit, his face was still crumpled from sleep. They could only hope the director had had his first morning coffee already.

"Aegis told me everything already," Johnson said. He raised an eyebrow at Chell. "Did no one ever tell you it's not very ladylike to sneak into a man's room?"

Chell stared him into the eyes. Johnson was the first to look away. "Of course," he mumbled. "That's beside the point. The important thing is," He glared at Wheatley. "You two broke the rules. There is a reason the dorms are separate, you know? It's not only you who get in trouble. Which you do, just so you know. Aperture's reputation can suffer under this, and believe me, you don't want that." He shrugged and looked at them more closely. "For your sake, I hope that nothing happened."

"Sir, I think this is all a huge misunderstanding-", Wheatley tried to interrupt. Johnson waved a hand.

"I don't want to hear it. I can live with the hope that you are not that stupid, uh," Johnson looked down at his papers. "Ethan." Wheatley crossed his arms to keep himself from hiding his face in his hands. Chell wanted nothing more than to comfort him, but they were both in the same crappy position. Johnson frowned.

"Wait, aren't you... Of course." His voice gained an edge. "Listen up, even a moron should get this."

"I am not-"

"Shut it," the director barked and slammed his hand down at the table. Caroline jumped at the sound. She looked from Chell to Wheatley with wide eyes and then shifted a little closer to the director, maybe to take a look at the papers. "You're students of Aperture and as long as you are here, you will abide by our rules. I pray to God you guys were careful," he added in a low mumble.

"Caroline."

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Johnson?", she responded with her usual enthusiasm, but couldn't hide a hint of worry in her voice.

"Tell Gladys to keep these two busy. If they can sneak out at night and have the energy for... anyway, they're obviously not productive enough during the day. Separate tasks of course."

"Yes, Sir, Mr. Johnson." Caroline made a subtle gesture that indicated they should better go now and hid it by adjusting her dress. Chell grabbed Wheatley's hand.

"You can go," Johnson said. "Aegis, please stay a bit longer, I have an unrelated question to clear up before these other kids show up." The janitor had already grabbed the doorknob, but stepped back at these words, swinging the door open. There were voices outside. One definitely belonged to Alyssa, the other was too low to be recognizable.

"I don't want to see you two together," Johnson added, almost as an afterthought, glaring at their joined hands. "Now, think about that, if you can actually think. Or have a conversation with your friend. Wait, no, that won't work either. Doesn't matter. Get out."

"B-But-" Wheatley couldn't finish his sentence. Chell dragged him out by the sleeve, shooting very meaningful "Shut up" glances. After a few seconds, he actually obliged. At least until he noticed they weren't alone in the hallway.

Helen gave them a brief smile and Alyssa jumped to her feet immediately. Chell dug her fingers into his palm, trying to keep him from saying something thoughtless.

"Oh, hello, Alyssa, Helen, how are you doing?" Chell relaxed her grip. Wheatley had actually remembered Helen had officially never been with them this morning. Instead, he rubbed his neck and let loose one of his usual run-on sentences. "Because it's not so good right now, y'know... although I really think that was unjustified, I mean, did you hear that, I didn't-" Chell elbowed him and the blonde teenager shut up with a noise of protest. "Uh... yeah, we gotta go, then... see you later... I guess."

Chell shoved him down the corridor until they were out of hearing range. Nobody was around for now. Chell rubbed her face and leaned against the wall.

"That was pretty good."

Wheatley shrugged his shoulders, feigning discomfort. "Alyssa won't miss the news forever." He sighed and hugged her. Chell closed her eyes. They only had a few moments. She dreaded going back to her room, but it couldn't be worse than when she ran into all the others during breakfast. Maybe she should skip that entirely.

This would prove to be a long day.

* * *

Gladys was not known for being intentionally cruel. She didn't care about anything else than results, that was all. But as the day progressed, Wheatley began to doubt that piece of common knowledge.

English literature, Mathematics, computer sciences, biology, that was just the usual boring school stuff. He really tried to keep up, like always. But he could think of better ways to spend the afternoon than cleaning up the new test chambers. Things tried to trip him all the time in there and Gladys seemed to have fun shooing him around, as if she had not yet decided where to put which equipment.

The only positive thing was that the test chambers were empty. No whispers, no smug grins and exaggerated laughter. He wondered where Chell was, what she was doing, and if she had to suffer through this right now.

And even worse, others had to rub this new screw-up into his face even unintentionally. When he had returned to his room, he had met Virgil, who just made a very slow way back to his own room. It was almost painful to watch him limp along, but despite the obvious effort, the ginger was radiating satisfaction. He had still been slightly sleepy, and not even tried to hide he was coming from the girl's dorms.  
"How was your sleepover?", Wheatley had asked. His voice was crisp, and more polite than he had ever heard himself.

Virgil had blinked at him, and Wheatley had stomped away before he had to listen to any stupid questions. Why didn't that guy get dragged on the corridor in his underwear to be laughed at? But of course, after the accident, nobody dared to mess with him. Also, he was with Mel, the future Olympian, the untouchable. (And Aegis would probably not dare to go into any of the girl's rooms. That would be Gladys's job.) Wheatley felt like screaming in outrage.

Which he did, as soon as he was sure nobody was around.

The sun was already setting when Gladys found someone else to torment. Wheatley took a shower and then returned to the main building to start looking for Chell. The testing tracks were closed and there was no reason she should be at the classrooms or laboratories. Considering she would try to avoid the other students, that left only a few possibilities.

Wheatley forced himself to keep his head up and shoulders straight as he walked down the corridor to the underground parks. There were spots few people ever went to, perfect when you wanted to be alone. Birds that had sneaked into the facility by one way or the other nested in the trees, so at least Gladys wouldn't bother them. The longer he thought about it, the more he felt he was right. Chell would be there.

It was hard to ignore the stares, but experience had taught him how much power behavior had. He only had to act a certain way and people thought twice about approaching him. It was astounding, even after a few months.

Somebody grabbed his shoulder and the world spun. It came to an abrupt stop when his back hit the wall. Rick grinned at him from under the brim of his fedora, his green eyes sparkling. He didn't take his hand away. The grip didn't hurt. Yet. Despite being younger, Rick was an inch or two taller than Wheatley. He could pin the skinny Brit against the wall with minimum effort.

"What?" Wheatley hated the quivering in his voice. He sounded like a defiant child. The other guy, the "evil" Wheatley, would never sound like that. He wouldn't let people push him around. And even better, Rick was scared of him.

Adventure looked him over from head to toe and frowned. "You don't even look tired."

"Why would I?"

Rick snickered like that had been a good joke and gave Wheatley's shoulder a playful squeeze that made the Brit wince in pain. "Come on, after that night you should be tired. Or you're tougher than you look."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?", Wheatley hissed, teeth gritted. It wasn't a secret that the wannabe hero had an eye on Chell. He had an eye on every attractive girl his age and upwards.

"Ya know, when two people like each other very much... Come on, you know exactly what I mean!"

Wheatley felt his face slowly heating up, and he hated himself for it. Rick looked around, but nobody was close enough to listen to them.

"Chell's one nice lady. Or should I say naughty?" He laughed about his own joke. "That was pretty brave of her, with the room inspection in the morning and all. Guess you can't always win at everything."

"Leave her alone!" Wheatley grabbed Rick's wrist and forced him to let go. Rick was too surprised to put up any fight. He stepped back and raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

"Don't worry. She's all yours. You should have said earlier." He regained his usual macho demeanor and crossed his arms. "Guess you're a man now after all."

Wheatley leaned against the wall in a casual manner and arched an eyebrow. "And you can tell?" No wonder Gladys liked sarcasm so much. Why had he never realized that before?

Rick pushed his fedora back and looked down the corridor. "Everybody knows that." He snapped his fingers. "But you gotta say, must have been good, right?"

"I'm not listening to you." Wheatley shoved him out of the way and stomped down the corridor. Screw holding his head up, as long as he got out of there, fast. He could only hope he didn't look like a walking tomato anymore. What the hell was wrong with everyone?

But of course, Rick wasn't someone who gave up easily. Wheatley didn't want to run, that would have looked too much like he was fleeing, and Rick had no problem catching up with him in the broad hallway. He overtook him and walked slightly ahead. Wheatley would have long since tripped if he had to walk backwards at this speed, but Rick didn't even seem to be concentrating all that much.

"No need to be shy. We're even related-"

"Distantly," Wheatley interrupted. He wished he could push that annoying-

But he didn't have the courage for that. At least that he knew for sure.

"Whatever. You can tell me. Guys do that." Wheatley didn't reply, but Rick managed to get the attention of every last student they passed by. The general murmuring fell to a quiet humming and eventually ceased completely when they reached the next door. Wheatley pushed it open and hoped Rick got it in the face. But of course, Adventure avoided it without even looking. When it fell shut, Wheatley pushed him out of the way. Rick held his balance and stopped, hands in his pockets.

"There's nothing to tell, okay?", Wheatley snapped. Rick arched an eyebrow, never changing his smirk. Dammit, he shouldn't stand here like a beaten puppy! But with his face feeling like dipped in molten lead, he was probably better off keeping his head down. "And even if, you're the last person I'd talk to."

"Oh." Rick blinked at him. When he spoke again, he sounded disappointed and relieved at the same time. "I really thought you'd do something about your virgin status."

Wheatley rubbed his face. The scar over his eye seemed to twinge, even though the wound had healed months ago. _You have got to be kidding me._

"But, just between you and me, you should think about what you say. Don't get me wrong, man, honesty is important and all, but sometimes it's better to let people think one thing, even if it's not true. Besides, everybody knows Chell is one of the-" The locker reverberated when Rick's back hit it, and gave a slightly different tone when his head followed. The fedora dropped to the floor in an ungraceful arc. For a moment, Rick's eyes were dazed, before a look of confusion and shock crossed his features. He looked down at the hands around his upper arms. The grip wasn't tight, just... there.

Rick gathered himself and straightened up to his full height. His green eyes flashed. "You threatening me, mate?"

Wheatley gave him a sweet, dangerous smile and watched discomfort unfold on Rick's face.

"Not at all," he said softly. "I'm just asking you to stay away from my girlfriend."

Rick squirmed, but a little squeeze made him give up on trying to free himself. "Y-Yeah, no problem."

Wheatley felt his grin widen a little more. That was much better. He was done letting people push him around. Tables would turn from now on. "And if you could also refrain from talking about her like that, that would be lovely." Rick nodded hastily.

Wheatley gave Rick a hearty clap on the shoulder. "Brilliant. Now then, I have stuff to do. Bye." He turned around and marched off. People parted for him like he was the Winter Soldier himself.

He would pay for this at some point, he knew that. He had managed to catch Rick by surprise, but the wannabe Indiana Jones would recover from that rather sooner than later. And then Wheatley would do good to run. Very fast and very far and preferably with a big head start.

* * *

Rick stared after Wheatley after he had disappeared around a corner. Only then he allowed himself to roll his shoulders to get rid of the tension in his muscles and pick up the fedora. It was all because of that damn musical. Helen really should have kept the original funny version instead of changing it to this disturbing Bond villain style persona. Rick hated to admit it, but it creeped him out when Wheatley acted like this. Rick knew he could beat him up without breaking a sweat, but he didn't believe in pointless violence. It caused too much trouble. People didn't need to know that, of course.

"That didn't go as planned." Rick jumped and spun, already bringing his fists up. Stephen crossed his arms, but otherwise didn't move an inch. Sometimes Rick wondered if his brother was that tough, stupid, or just oblivious.

"Don't do that!", Adventure snapped and gave Stephen a shove. Not too hard, though.

Stephen took a step back and adjusted his glasses, without changing his bored expression. "Taking out his own real or imagined flaws on others is called projection and was invented by the psychologist Sigmund Freud," Stephen said. "Also, you are scared of a person that doesn't exist."

"Oh shut up!" Rick brushed dust off his hat and put it on again before turning to go. After one step, he hesitated. "Did you want anything specific?"  
"You asked me for some books."

Rick tensed and looked around. Nobody was in sight. "Ah, yeah, thanks." Stephen opened his bag and took out three books, but pulled his hand back before Rick could grab them.

"There's nothing embarrassing about liking to read," he said.

"Whatever," Rick growled.

Stephen rolled his eyes, but handed him the small pile. "The Catcher in the Rye, Treasure Island and the first volume of Chronicles of Narnia. That's enough for this week."

Rick stuffed the books in his bag, casting wary glances around. "You should learn to ask questions, even if it's rhetorical ones."

"When you learn to stand to everything you do."

"Touché," Rick admitted. "As if anyone does that." He rubbed his neck and stared at the ground. "Anyway, I gotta get going."

"You'll like them." Rick had the same feeling, but he didn't say anything.

He probably shouldn't be mad at Wheatley. People called him a moron, but he could be a pretty cool dude. And more important, he had asked Rick how to impress Chell after all. Rick had given him all the advise he could think of. He just hadn't expected Wheatley of all people to pull a stunt like that. It was a miracle he still had that eye. Or was alive. That had been damn brave.

Anyhow, Rick had better things to do. There were other fish in the sea and he liked to tell himself he wasn't that desperate. Stephen had agreed to go to the library only when Rick had finished what he had brought before, and only once a week. He had to keep a schedule.

* * *

The paintings were next to photo realistic. When the water was still, it was almost impossible to tell the lake didn't look out over a foggy valley laden with dark trees. The chilly air prickled on any patch of bared skin. The water was maybe three foot deep, barely enough to swim, if you wanted to catch a cold, that was. It was a few degrees warmer than the air, just enough to cause a fine white mist curling through the room. It almost swallowed the jetty on the lake and the single figure sitting at the edge.

Chell had her legs drawn up to her chest, hugging them tight. Her face was buried in her knees and the whole rest was covered by a big, fluffy hood. If there had been any movement around, it would have been impossible to spot the occasional tremble running through her body.

Some bird protested when Wheatley passed them by. Chell froze, even as he sat down beside her.

"Luv?" There was no reaction. He laid a hand on her shoulder and felt her tense up even more, now even ceasing to breathe. Wheatley drew a line into the water with the tip of his sneakers. The waves spread out in shimmering lines until they disappeared.

"I'm sorry for getting you into this." Still nothing. More minutes passed in silence.

"Luv. Look at me, please." Chell moved. She could have been shaking her head, or scratching her nose for that matter, it was hard to tell. Otherwise, nothing about her position changed. Wheatley slid closer and laid an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, it's just me."

It took a few moments until she relaxed a little against him. Wheatley carefully pulled back the hood and didn't let her look away. "Was somebody mean to you?"

Chell sniffed and didn't reply. Her blue eyes were bloodshot and swollen, the tears still fresh on her cheeks. "More like everyone?", Wheatley guessed. "Rick's got our back, if that knowledge helps."

She glared at him. At least he had the decency to look guilty. "Sorry, luv. Just... tell me what I can do to help." He shut up before any of the other words could come out. He wasn't sure if any of it was a good idea, and now was not the time to test theories.

"Luv?", he inquired again.

Chell buried her face in his chest and began to sob. Not for long, then she talked.

Chell wasn't shy. She had her opinions, and she stood for them, no matter what. She was the most stubborn person in all of Aperture, everyone knew that. It was just a little tic that had developed into a habit and then into something more stable. She refused to talk to anyone she didn't like, and by extension, didn't trust. There was not a dozen people that knew what her voice sounded like.

Right now, it was rough and distorted. She wasn't crying because she was sad, that stage had long since passed. No, she was furious. There was nothing she hated more than being helpless and it made her want to blow something up, preferably something that made a lot of noise and scared the hell out of everyone, including Aegis and Director Johnson.

She told Wheatley everything. About the whispers, and the giggles, and the stares. They were always there, the moment she turned her back. She could feel the scornful, mocking looks she got, people pointing their fingers at her. Wheatley didn't recognize any of the names. None of the Cores were involved. Not even Gladys had said anything specific.

"People are disgusting," Chell finished and fell silent again. Her throat felt like filled with sandpaper. Who did they think they were? They had no right to assume anything, and even less right to judge them based on a fictional story. She shrugged and stared over the water, tired from the outbreak.

It was silent except for the quiet sounds of the water against the pillars and walls. Wheatley let her smooth dark hair run through his fingers until she stopped trembling.

"I talked to Rick earlier. He won't bother you," he promised. "Why would we listen to these people anyway? It doesn't matter if they think you're- ow!" He flinched back from the elbow jabbing at his ribs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I should think before I talk. Work in progress, okay?" Chell glared at him, her face still pale and spotted under the dark skin, but there was a weak smile struggling to break through her gloom.

Voices entered the hall and came closer. Chell tensed, staring at her reflection in the water. She dug out a handkerchief and wiped her face. The result wasn't much better, except a little less soaked. She tried to stand up, and fell right down on her behind. Her legs were trembling too much to carry her weight. Wheatley stretched and laid his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer.

"Let's stay a while longer." It wasn't a question, and he didn't allow any struggle. She had to talk to him about this. It was nice to finally see him more confident, but there was a line he had come dangerously close to crossing more than once. Just not now.

It was sort of warm, more or less comfy, and this time, nobody would disturb them.

Chell rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.


	9. What is sanity even?

The quiet murmuring on the hallway outside went even more quiet, conversations interrupted for polite greetings. Helen stood up from the small round table and turned to face the door. She had already ordered coffee for both of them. It was always exactly the same.

"Thank you for coming."

Benjamin Riley smiled and shook her hand. His giant fingers seemed thick enough to squish a metal can without effort, yet his grip was light, almost hesitant.

"Anytime, Helen." Helen was a tall girl, but even the biggest boys had to look upwards to meet Ben's soft brown eyes. He had the build of a soldier, but at the same time he seemed no more than a child in an adult's body, fitting his ruffled blond hair and quiet demeanor.

They sat down. "Thanks for the coffee." He took a sip, carefully balancing the cup. Helen did the same.

"No problem. It's been a while."

He nodded and looked out the window. The small café Julie had somehow managed to establish had a view over the school complex and the surrounding woods. It was the only building tall enough to look over the trees. There were no other buildings more than two floors high. The true Aperture lay underground.

Far ahead was the next city, only visible in the fog because of the skyscrapers. It was miles away, through woods and across a guarded perimeter. Johnson didn't mess around when it came to protecting his facility from "spies".

"I'm sorry about your project," Ben said eventually.

She shrugged. "It was a stupid attempt. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe because even Gladys covered for it and he couldn't possibly punish all of us..." She fell silent and took another sip of her coffee. "How has your business been doing? I mean... after everything."

"You're referring to Virgil Hansen." It wasn't a question. "It's a shame. He changed a lot since he came here first."

She nodded. "How was this Christan Hansen? I didn't get to meet him."

"A truly horrible man," Ben said. "Mr Aegis let me handle the porch that afternoon."

"Since when are you the janitor?"

Ben didn't answer the question. "Don't blame yourself for everything that happens. You can't do this and stay sane forever. It's too much for one person."

"You talk like there's someone else to do it." She crossed her arms and leaned back, staring at the empty white ceiling. The tips of her black hair almost touched the floor.

"Kids grow up," Ben said with a smile. "Even Richard is not as rough as he used to be."

"People misjudge him." Helen sat up again and finished her coffee, wondering if she should go for another one. It had been a long day.

They were silent for a while. In the background, Julie was explaining something to a younger student and the smell of cake drifted through the air. Helen had checked the ingredients beforehand, so she didn't need to worry. And admittedly, Julie made incredible (and safe) cappuccino.

"Are you still angry at Ethan for getting your musical canceled?", Ben asked.

It took a few seconds for Helen's tired brain to figure out who Ben was referring to.

"Wheatley?" She stared at the empty cup and frowned. "What do you mean? He loved that role."

"A bit too much, sometimes," Ben stated, his voice dropping to a darker pitch.

Helen pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and flicked a speck of dust off her black jeans. "Well, he... went overboard a few times, but that wasn't on purpose."

"You mean when he grabbed Gladys's throat and pushed her against the glass?"

Helen shrugged her shoulders and didn't look at him. "He didn't mean to hurt her. He got too much into his role, that's all." She had to smile about a sudden flash of memory. "Everybody was talking about why we would have Wheatley play the antagonist. I mean, Gladys can be scary if she wants, but him? And then he turned out such a good actor. Even Rick shut up."

"You mean he was creeped out." Ben smiled. "Everyone underestimates the little people."

She nodded. "It's funny, I mean I was the one who asked him to play the role, but... I never thought Wheatley of all people could be so... frightening."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "I only heard."

Helen rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Wheatley, you're squeezing him a little too hard. Wheatley, we're making a break, your smile is creeping Tim out. Wheatley, you're standing way too close," she quoted. "I'd like to think it's good he doesn't react as childish to Rick's teasing anymore, but..."

"You think he learned he can use that attitude to get what he wants," Ben finished.

She sighed. "It works with Rick."

"Don't underestimate the power a girl can have."

Helen raised her eyebrows. "Maybe. I don't want to intervene." She changed the topic. "You still didn't tell me what Wheatley would have to do with the musical getting canceled. That accident wasn't his fault." She hesitated. "It was mine."

Ben cocked his head for a moment and then rummaged his pocket for his phone. A moment later he presented a screenshot of an old post on the school blog. It was a photo of Gladys lying on the ground, with fake scratches and blood all over her. Mostly fake, that was, even though Helen hadn't known before they finished rehearsal for that day.

Helen stared at it for a moment. "I remember." It was the only costumed session they had done before the show was shut down, mostly because Gladys' costume was changed afterwards to something more fancy. She didn't want to get her normal clothes dirty again. Helen hadn't even noticed somebody taking a photo, and Wheatley had been on stage at that point. The whole thing had ended in an angry Gladys and a punishment for Wheatley... again.

"What does that... oh." Ben nodded and put the phone away again. Helen folded her hands and frowned down at them. "You think the post set Director Johnson off?"

"It's possible. Ethan is a bit... thoughtless sometimes."

Helen stared out at the trees for a moment, then looked Ben directly in the eyes. "Even if. I didn't think of it either, despite all the drama around that photo."

"And you cannot be angry at him."

She shook her head. "We don't even know for sure. And..."

"Even if," Ben finished her sentence. He smiled. "You are too kind for this world."

"I guess I am," she sighed. Before she could say more, her phone rang. "Sorry." Helen picked up. "Hello?" Her smile vanished. "Yes. No, it's alright, just... hold out a moment longer, I'll be right there. Where are you?" She was already standing up while talking. For a moment, she held her hand over the receiver and turned to Ben. "Sorry, gotta go. Coffee's on me." Then she hurried out, to whatever emergency she felt responsible for this time.

Ben sighed and emptied his cup before bringing them back to the counter.

"You going to the football match this evening?", Julie asked. Whatever little one she had been teaching was gone, and she was just taking off her apron. As always, her brown hair was in a tight bun and she wore a dark red sleeveless shirt and jeans.

Ben nodded. "Will there be trouble?"

"Football was so dangerous in Victorian England they used it as a punishment for criminals," a voice came from somewhere on the floor.

Ben blinked. He had to lean over the counter to see Stephen. The boy had a book in his lap, but was unable to pretend he was reading, instead fiddling with his glasses or brushing his dark hair down with one hand. "What are you doing down there?", Ben asked him.

"Fact: This is the only place where you can have quiet and peace," Stephen replied in a pointedly dignified manner, but didn't bother to even turn his head.

Ben frowned. Should he go after Helen? She had sounded really worried, but finding her would be difficult now. He should have asked. And there seemed to be more work for him here.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Stephen snapped before his twin sister could answer. After a second he added, "...nothing that involves you."

Julie intercepted by pushing a small plate covered in aluminum foil over the counter. "But, would you be so kind to take these pastries to Nigel and David? Wheatley asked me, but we have to clean up first and they're getting cold."

Ben's frown deepened. He knew for sure that Wheatley had been at the underground park with Chell the whole day after class. That was quite a detour just to ask for pastries... especially for two people he didn't like. But likewise, Julie didn't lie. Rumor had it, the twins couldn't, for whatever strange reason. Not that it had ever stopped them. The truth was a flexible thing.

"I'll go and talk to them."

"I don't need your help," Stephen barked and jumped to his feet. His legs wobbled so badly, Julie had to grab his arm to steady him. Stephen flinched at the touch and spun, turning his back on Benjamin. He clenched the book against his chest like a stuffed animal. There was already a dark bruise developing on his cheekbone.

Ben nodded slowly. As advanced as the system was, he couldn't be everywhere at once.

"No, you just need to know when to shut up, and stop provoking others," Julie said and shook her head, dark blue eyes narrowed. "Or learn to be more diplomatic."

"Diplomacy is stupid. All we need is facts." He turned sharply and left, just quick enough that it didn't look like he was fleeing.

"Steve!" Julie sighed and didn't attempt to follow him. "Oh man."

Ben looked down at the plate of what he presumed was pastries and shoved it back over the counter. "Be kind. I'll handle the rest."

Julie snorted. "Yeah, whatever. It's not like they're poisonous or anything..." She draped the apron over her chair and grabbed a set of keys. "Gotta go before he burrows himself in his room again. Sometimes I'm afraid he'll turn into August Applebee if this goes on." She shooed Ben out of the room and locked the door. She gave him a curt nod and then jogged down the corridor.

Ben turned a different way, down to the auditorium. Nigel and David would surely be around. Most of the younger students stayed there, while the older preferred the park near the testing tracks.

Maybe Helen was right after all. Common sense seemed to be mostly absent in this institution. Sometimes he wondered how Aperture was running at all, if the parents were even interested in anything but results. It didn't look good.

But, however that might be, he needed to talk to these kids. They had been making trouble for far too long. Securing Aperture and its students was what he had chosen to do, and fights were not permitted on his watch. Time to get back to work.


	10. Bird on the wire

Sorry it took me so long to update. I had these chapters up on tumblr like a week ago and kind of forgot I even have this story here. ^^"

So, double upload. Also, this is a direct continuation of the last chapter. Have fun ~

* * *

Gladys hated birds. She hated every last one of these damned creatures, big and small, bright or dull, every feather and beak and claw and she was fully aware that she felt that way because she needed something to replace her paralyzing terror.

So hate it was, hot and red, and slowly drowning in a wave of mind-numbing panic.

"Don't be silly," she told herself. Her voice was high-pitched, like a little girl's. Her phone was right there, just a few meters away, but she had to reach it first. Slowly, Gladys raised her head. She needed all her willpower to do so, and her body almost physically protested at the sight.

Birds everywhere. Pigeons, and swallows, and magpies and many more she couldn't identify. Curse these disgusting creatures, she couldn't even bear looking at them. Everyone at Aperture knew that. She never went out on the hiking trips in spring, or joined them on the roof to watch the fireworks on New Year's Eve. What was the point in that, anyway? It was just getting in the way of science.

Something brushed over her head, completely soundless. Gladys froze.

If she hadn't been trembling already, it would have been from the icy wind. It was cold up here, a space that was left open when Aperture was constructed, and ended up being sealed with a hatch. There had to be an opening to the outside, and once she was out of here, she would get someone to close it within an hour.

That implied she got out of here.

How would anyone know she was here? The hatch was closed at all times, the key was in Caroline's office. Not even Aegis had a separate copy. It would be hours until somebody noticed her disappearance. And as afraid Gladys was, she didn't want anyone to see her like this. She was the Queen of Aperture.

Gladys didn't even dare to wipe her face, didn't dare to make any unnecessary move. Small birds like this didn't attack humans, or so it was said to be. Her hammering heart had a different opinion, and the ball of barbed wire that had settled into her stomach.

 _Just a few yards._

The hatch was ajar. She could hear it moving with every gust of wind. But it was far away, so far away behind masses of birds. They chirped and blinked at her with their soulless little eyes, hopping around in between white dried crusts. She had to get the phone, but that meant getting out of the corner she had been sitting in for what felt like an eternity. She would be surrounded, without anything to back her up.

 _That wouldn't help anyway._

She drew a shaky, but determined breath and tried to shift her position. So far, her legs had been drawn up against her chest. In the acclimatized complex, she had never had a problem with wearing the short dresses she preferred, but now her muscles felt stiff, and the skin hurt when it came in contact with the concrete floor.

Gladys clenched her jaw. Her eyes were fixed on the phone, blocking out everything else. If she moved slowly, she wouldn't stir up the swarm, or whatever an army of hellish demons like this was called.

From the light shining through dusty windows, it had to be afternoon, and the sun was going down already. Spring would still take a while to arrive. Fine with her, if it killed as many of these pests as possible. She had no clue how she had even gotten here. Her headphones, equipped with a microphone and the prototype of a wearable computer screen, were gone.

The last thing she remembered was entering one of the new test chambers she had designed.

Why had she gone there again?

It took her terrified brain a while to remember. There had been a trespasser. The testing tracks were off-limits for everyone without permission. She had installed a simple alarm that told her if somebody entered the room. And that time, nobody had been sent there. It hadn't been used since she had Wheatley put it together as a punishment for him and Chell doing... whatever. Gladys didn't really care, as long as he helped advance her tests. As much as Chell annoyed her with her stubborn silence, she was the best when it came to the portal testing initiative. Not even Rick and Mel were that skilled.

She had entered the chamber and found it empty. Fade to black. No sound, no warning, nothing. Then she woke up in her worst nightmare.

She had almost managed four yards now. Every step of hands and knees was agonizingly slow. Her muscles were trembling so much she feared she'd lose her balance if she made any rash movement. It was humiliating, and the proud part of her mind was glad she was alone.

A blackbird hopped in her way. It was small, even smaller than its friends, and stared up at her with black eyes barely bigger than the lead of a pencil. Gladys stared back, her own golden eyes wide open, frozen in her crouching position.

It hopped forward. She would have flinched, but she couldn't. She could as well have been a statue. The little bird cocked its head. Then it hopped forward and took a peck at her finger.

It was really no surprise. She was wearing nail polish that might very well have reminded the bird of food. Who knew what these creatures were thinking? The peck wasn't hard, it didn't even hurt.

Gladys suppressed a shriek and leaped forward. Her hand closed around her phone just as all the birds rose up in cacophony of protesting chirps. It took her half a second to orient herself, and another one to turn around. Talons, beaks, wings were being thrusts at her with unrelenting malevolent force. Something dug into her cheek, but she moved. If she froze now, she might as well die.

Her spine hit the wall with an audible thud, but the pain was numbed by adrenaline and relief. The birds were screaming, a deafening, hellish choir, disappointed by her temporary escape. She pulled her legs against her chest as tight as possible, a feeble and vulnerable shield against the beasts circling closer.

But she had the phone.

She pressed the home button, expecting the familiar bright Aperture logo to pop up.

Nothing.

She stared down at the black screen. A white, terrified face with tear-streaked cheeks stared back. Since when was she crying? She never cried. The last time had been... back then.

Her fingers were numb with cold, but somehow she found the power switch at the side. At the first attempt, she couldn't muster enough strength to press it for more than a second.

The screen lit up.

Gladys almost dropped the phone when something hopped on her foot.

It was the tiny blackbird again.

"G-go away!", she hissed. "Leave me alone!" The blackbird tilted its head and chirped.

Her phone announced it had started up with the sound not unlike pearling water. Gladys stared at the bird. She couldn't let it out of her gaze, as much as she wanted to progress. She would get out of here.

Gladys knew little enough about birds, but even she was almost entirely certain that birds, so many species of them at once, wouldn't stay in a place like this all at once.

Who ever had done this to her would pay.

Her fingers glided over the screen with ease. She didn't need to look to unlock the phone. She hadn't changed the lock pattern in two years. Nobody would dare to touch her belongings.

Somebody had. She only turned her phone off to charge it at night.

It made her balance waver precariously, but Gladys tried to kick the bird away. Her legs made a small twitch, and her right foot lifted a few inches off the ground, but the bird stayed where it was.

She tapped her contacts. Helen was right at the top, along with Director Johnson, Caroline, August and Benjamin.

The little bird watched her. "Get lost!", Gladys whispered. She didn't dare to raise her voice. The birds had finally settled down again.

The phone gave a long, sorrowful ring. And another one. And another one. She hadn't even checked if she had a signal up here. Aperture didn't use public satellites, they had an internal network. Gladys had designed it herself. But she had never thought of extending its reach to this damned place.

"Please." Her lips were trembling so much she barely understood her own words. She didn't know who or what she was pleading to. Where would Helen be right now? Probably working on her new musical script. "Pick up."

The line cracked, then Helen's voice came through. "Hello?" There was audible cheer in her voice. So maybe she was out with somebody. Hadn't she said something about meeting the security chief?

"Helen, it's Gladys." Her voice broke. "Do you have time? I... I need your help. U-unless there's something... something else important." She gave a shrill, helpless laugh. The birds flocked around her in a semi-circle. They were watching, waiting for her to lose focus, coming closer whenever she took her eyes of them.

The cheer drained from Helen's voice in a split second. "Yes. No, it's alright, just... hold out a moment longer, I'll be right there. Where are you?"

"The... the space above the old buildings." The phone gave a deafening honk that made Gladys almost drop it. The battery was draining, and fast. It was far too cold up here.

"Hello? Are you still there?" Helen's voice was faint. No matter how bad things got, how much she was shaken, she never broke down. Not in public, at least.

"Y-Yes, Helen, the space over the old buildings. It's normally closed off, please-" The phone gave another peep and then shut down. "Hurry," Gladys finished.

A shadow sailed over her, and something smooth brushed her face before a weight settled on her shoulder.

"N-No..." She couldn't move. The weight moved, spindly talons on her skin.

Gladys was seven years old. She was playing outside, or rather investigating every inch of the vast field behind the line of houses that marked the end of the town she grew up in. The other children were running around, splashing water on each other and shrieking like the pitiful rats they were. Gladys had no interest in this pointless nonsense. She was a scientist, and if nobody could explain the world to her, she would do it herself. Her parents always said she would become a scientist. They didn't have a lot of time, but at least they respected her hard work. They had long since stopped asking why she didn't play with the others. As far as Gladys was concerned, they were the best parents she could wish for.

"Hey Gladys!" She stopped and turned around. The other kids, five of them, three boys and two girls, looked at her. They were carrying a variety of things. A long blue skipping rope, a beg of seeds, and something that looked like a pot of honey. She could smell the sweet scent even from a distance.

"What is it?", she asked. Her parents always said she had to be polite, if she liked the others or not. "Can I help you?"

The kids looked at each other and then the oldest boy nodded. They spread out in a semi-circle around her. Gladys took a step back, but hesitated. She wasn't done with her studies yet. But she didn't like this either.

The other two boys grabbed her arms and suddenly, she was dragged along, towards the treeline.

"What are you doing?", she demanded. No matter how hard she pulled, and struggled, she couldn't break free. She kicked one of the boys. He flinched, but didn't let go. They pressed her against one of the tall, slim trees, her summer dress barely shielding her from the rough bark. They wrapped the rope around her and the tree. Gladys wriggled, trying to slip out, but the rope was very long and held her steadfast.

"You think you're so clever, dontcha?", one of the girls, the blond one, said in a fake sweet tone. She looked at her friend and they giggled.

"What are you doing?", Gladys repeated, her voice gaining an edge. "You... are you playing Cowboys and Indians?"

The kids laughed. "Much better," the oldest boy said. Gladys had never bothered to memorize their names, her family was always moving around, and never stayed for long, but now she wished she had.

"Let me go immediately!", she snapped.

"Let me go immediately," the blonde girl mocked her. "Don't worry, somebody will find you eventually. If you scream loud enough."

"You'll be punished for that!" That only made them laugh even more. The blond girl was holding the pot of honey and now emptied it over Gladys's head. It was warm, and the honey was fresh, so it poured out quick. She could feel the sticky liquid soaking her shoulder-length hair, and running into her dress. The sweet scent was dizzying. The blonde girl finished her work by pouring the last bit of honey on Gladys's feet and brand-new white sandals. Then she stepped back, admiring her work.

Gladys blinked, trying to keep the honey out of her eyes. She needed to see what was going on. What did they want? She hated being dirty, like they always were, but it wasn't that she'd break down crying because of it. The other girl looked at her friends.

"Go ahead!", the boy who had tied the rope said. The girl opened the jar she had been holding and showered Gladys in a rain of seeds. It was a vast variety, corn, pumpkin, sunflower seeds, things Gladys didn't know. They pricked her a little as they hit and then stuck to the honey.

"Ew," the blond girl said and they laughed. "Mommy always said we should help the animals. Now they got a great place to eat."

"Let me go!" They only laughed at her and then went away. She was all alone while the sun set over the woods. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't free herself. Her back was rubbing painfully against the tree with each movement, and the overwhelming scent of sugar made her sick in the stomach.

"Hello? Can someone hear me?" Her voice was calm and factual, not the terrified pleading of a child, but the polite inquiry of an adult.

Then the birds came, and the long, long hours until someone heard her shrieks of terror.

"No! Help me! Somebody, please! Somebody..." Her voice broke off, her frantic breaths channeled into a sob. "Please..."

Somebody was shaking her, but she couldn't stir. They were everywhere, pecking, clawing, chirping their evil songs. "Gladys!" The voice broke through the hellish choir, faint, but familiar.

"Don't touch me!", she shrieked. The smell of honey was everywhere, but it began to fade, along with the sound of the monsters around her.

"It's alright. They're gone. Look around."

It was an effort to even raise her head. Helen gave her a worried smile. The room was empty, only the wind howling around the buildings, swiping away the feathers that had been left behind. No birds anywhere, no honey, no laughter. Her whole body felt sore, and there were scratches all over her, and her white dress was dirty, but she was at Aperture. Her kingdom.

Helen laid her arms around her friend as she sobbed, the terror finally giving way to a crushing wave of relief. Her skin was so icy Helen almost recoiled at the first touch. It had taken far too long to find this place. In the end, she had to ask Aegis for directions. Helen didn't like the suspicious looks he had given her, but he had not asked any questions when she said the director sent her. That lie would come back to bite her, rather sooner than later.

Who could possibly be this cruel? Gladys's ornithophobia was common knowledge, but few people really understood what it meant. This was not just a prank. Helen was patient and rather got sad than angry about other people's mmisbehavior, but right now she felt an unfamiliar burning contempt at whoever had done this.

"They'll pay," Gladys hissed. "I'll find them, and they'll pay!"

Helen stroked her friend's hair. Gladys hated being touched in any other situation, but now she actually seemed to calm down. Her sobs subsided a little more with each minute.

"They will," Helen promised. "Let's go, okay? You'll catch a cold."

"I can't go around the facility looking like that." Gladys's voice was rough, but she was already getting herself together again. Helen picked up the dark and useless phone and helped Gladys to her feet. It was a blessing the Queen of Aperture rarely wore high heels. On legs shaking like that, Helen wouldn't have been able to walk at all.

They made a slow way to the hatch, and into a dim side corridor. These buildings were not even used anymore. Johnson was just too greedy to renovate or have them demolished.

Helen steadied her for most of the way to the dorms. Gladys's room was a little separate from that of the other girls, and she even had her own bathroom. The privileges of a ruler. The corridors were empty. It took Helen most of the way to remember there was a football match going on in the underground sports hall. She could only hope her presence wasn't needed. But with Ben to keep watch and Brooke Mendoza as the student paramedic, they could get along without her for now.

Hopefully.

Gladys stopped in front of the door. Helen let go. She knew when her friend got uncomfortable.

"Thanks." Gladys didn't look at her. "See you later?"

"Sure," Helen replied. She handed Gladys her phone. The Queen of Aperture nodded, without turning around, and vanished in her room. Helen looked at the closed door for a few seconds before going back to her own room. For some reason, she felt like having a nice long shower. Everybody was at the game, so at least she would be alone.

Aperture had never been a peaceful place. But for some reason she had the feeling it would only get worse.


	11. A thousand Miles

Round and round and round. The white circle spun on a light blue background, until it finally gave way to an empty black screen. Virgil brushed his hair back in the reflection without accomplishing much. Mel would be so not thrilled. He wasn't either. The short hair made him look even more tired than he already was, giving no decent contrast to his pale skin.

"Hej?", he asked. "Hör du mig?" He rubbed his eyes. If he couldn't form a straight sentence in English, this was pointless. "Mel? Are you there?"

There was a short delay, then the screen lit up and showed Mel, her dark red hair open, only illuminated by the light of the computer screen. She smiled in greeting. It faltered when she saw him, a frown appearing on her face.

Virgil didn't give her time to speak. "Yes, Father made my get a haircut. I know I look awful." He tried to lighten the words with a smile and failed miserably. At least it wasn't that short. If he got back to Aperture, it would only take a few months to go back to normal. It was a compromise he had paid dearly for, but at least it was a compromise at all.

"You look tired," Mel said softly. Virgil shrugged, barely lifting his shoulders from the blanket. He was lying on his stomach, stretched out on the bed. It was the only position that was more or less bearable, even though his shoulders tended to cramp up after a while.

"It's two in the morning, käraste." He had to smile at her confused frown. "That means dearest. I'm too hipster to use American nicknames."

Mel laughed. "Fine by me, wait how do you pronounce that? Sher-a-steh?"

"Pretty much." He spelled it out for her and Mel noted it down.

"That's cute. Thank you."

Mel didn't look convinced by his smile. He hurried to continue the conversation. "How are things going at Aperture?"

She shrugged her shoulders. There was a clatter on the hallway and laughter, loud enough to reach the microphone. "People have crushes on each other, people fight, science projects blow up. Director Johnson is mad because the government is snooping around for usable inventions. Rick said that, so no idea how true it is. Alyssa has a crush on Nigel and is annoying the hell out of him, and there's some issue with him and the younger Core kids. If that cheers you up a bit."

"Do you really think I'm that petty?", asked Virgil, faking indignation. Then he winked. "Tell Alyssa good luck, she shouldn't give up too early."

Mel smiled meekly and nodded. "Otherwise, everybody is pretty much the same as always. Oh right, I almost forgot." She summarized the rumors about Gladys getting kidnapped and locked up in the "bird space". Nobody knew where it was exactly, and those who did kept it to themselves.

Virgil was quiet for a moment. "Gladys is not always a nice person, but that's not just a prank," he commented eventually. He rested his chin on his hands to relax his already sore back.

"What about Wheatley? He reacted so strange the day I... I left."

"No idea. He and Chell keep mostly to themselves." The 4000 miles between them delayed her words and she cut Virgil off when he wanted to speak. "What about you?"

His already forced smile gained another edge. "Kata is showing me around Stockholm. It's been an eternity and a lot of stuff changed. She's accusing me of being more American than Swedish by now." His attempt at a laugh died fast. "Stockholm is a great city. We're having fun, sort of. We even went swimming last weekend."

"And your Father?"

"I'm at Uncle Nikolaj's place most of the time." He pushed up one sleeve and held his arm into the camera. The tattoo colors shone bright even in the diffuse lights in his room. "See, I'm not surrendering just yet."

He could feel Mel's stare through the camera. Virgil hastily pulled down the sleeve again and fell back in his original position. The dark bruise on his arm vanished under the fabric.

"Speaking of which, guess who I ran into? Rainbow is here," Virgil tried to distract her. It worked.

Mel's eyes narrowed. "Did you finally find out his real name?"

Virgil shook his head, not meeting her gaze. "He had to show some kind of license but I couldn't read it, when... uh, when he took me out for drinks." He cleared his throat. "We ran into him downtown and he was so excited to see me, I couldn't say no."

Mel didn't say anything for several seconds. When she spoke, her words were clipped. "What is that person doing in Sweden?"

Virgil shrugged, a hint of annoyance creeping into his face. He was tired and his legs felt like filled with glass shards and he didn't have the nerve to deal with this right now. "What do I know? There was an international meeting I think. We just met by chance and he insisted on a chat. He's got some really cool ideas to complete my flower designs."

Mel's eyebrows crept up about ten inches. She didn't have to speak to be understood.

"Yeah, technically, what I originally planned is done. But he made sketches for all the way up to the shoulders. He asked me to meet him in his shop once I'm back in America, then I can show you."

Mel nodded. She wouldn't let him go there alone ever again. Not in a million years. "Why does it have to be that... person?"

Virgil blinked at her. "Are you _jealous_?" Mel shook her head, but couldn't hide a flinch of guilt.

"Come on, yes, he's a bit.. shady, I suppose, and overly attached, and attractive." He cleared his throat and hastily continued over the slip-up before Mel could say anything. "I was underage, remember? But he's an amazing artist. Did you see his other works? That guy is a genius."

Mel nodded, very slowly. "He did a good job," she admitted, but only grudgingly.

"He changed his hair color again, by the way. You know, that one strand? It's red now."

Mel gave him a level look. "I don't trust him and I hate it to see him touch you, even if it's necessary for his work. But if you must."

"I don't. I want to." The words came out more sharply than intended. Virgil rubbed his eyes. "Let's talk about something else, alright?"

"Maybe it's better we postpone this. You're tired."

"No! Don't go." Mel already had her hand on the mouse, but froze and stared at him. The words had almost been a plea. Virgil's voice dropped back to a whisper. He didn't want to wake anyone, especially considering he was at his parent's house. "We... we haven't talked to each other for a while. I miss you."

Mel pushed her anger aside. This didn't bring them anywhere. Instead, she gave him a soft smile and almost extended her hand to stroke his hair. She couldn't, naturally, but Virgil acknowledged the attempt anyway. "I miss you too," said Mel. "How is your training going?"

He sighed and dropped his head on his arms, which was descriptive enough. "And I thought you were demanding," his voice came through several layers of fabric. "I completely forgot what a beast Kata can be."

Mel didn't answer. His shirt had dropped back from his neck when he moved, and she could see the dark bruises running from one shoulder all the way down to the waist. Virgil had years of experience in interpreting her silence, and didn't move.

"Accidents happen. I'm not so steady on my feet yet," he mumbled.

"Bullshit!", Mel snapped. "You can't let that bastard do that. He doesn't have a _right-_ "

"And what am I supposed to do?" She broke off. There were good reasons about keeping quiet, they both knew it. And they both knew it didn't change anything.

"I'm scared," Virgil whispered. "I tell myself I will stand up to him every time, and then he comes in and I'm just a little child again, and I'm scared." He sniffed and rubbed his eyes, but didn't look up.

"Things aren't going like they're supposed to. Maybe when Father dragged me through half the school there was new damage, I don't know. I only know it hurts and I'm never going back."

"Don't say that." Mel's voice gave out halfway through. "Of course you're coming back to us."

Her fingers only met the screen and she had to blink several times. It didn't help much.

She didn't receive an answer and fell back into her usual silence. Her throat felt rough, but it wasn't from talking so much. She just sat there, staring at the computer screen and at her boyfriend who was so far beyond her reach, wishing she could be there.

Almost twenty minutes passed until Virgil managed to speak again. "This wasn't supposed to go like this," he mumbled. "I'm sorry."

There was another sound. Mel turned around, but it hadn't been her door.

"Virgil?", a soft, sleepy voice came from somewhere out of the camera's sight. She pronounced it much differently, with a rolling r in the middle and the end clipped short.

Katarina was dressed in shorts and a tee that didn't hide her feminine frame. Neither did they cover the bruise on her arm. Her platinum blond hair was held back in a dissolving ponytail. She sat down on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on his back. It took her a moment to notice Mel.

"Hej," Katarina said quietly.

Mel nodded in response. It unnerved her how little she could interpret the Swedish girl's behavior. She never looked guilty or startled in a situation many girls would consider a capital offense.

"Sorry for waking you," Virgil mumbled without so much as raising his head.

"I couldn't sleep anyway. How are your legs?" Katarina's accent made it hard for Mel to understand everything over the tiny speakers of her notebook. But at least the girl was polite enough to speak English at all.

Virgil made a noncommittal sound and didn't answer. Katarina just looked at him for a moment. The pity in her eyes was hard to describe, but Mel could relate to it on the most primal level. It was shared pain, nothing less. Katarina stroked his neck, ruffling the short red strands. Virgil cringed visibly. Katarina pretended not to notice until he just gave in and lay still again.

"We're making good progress," Katarina said after a moment, turning to the computer. "You can go back soon." This time, she didn't hide the disappointment in her voice. Instead, she stood up and walked half a step down the length of the bed to place a hand on Virgil's calf. He let out a hiss of pain and flinched away from the touch, somehow getting into a sitting position.

"This is what I'm talking about," he growled, almost like a curse. "It was a stupid idea in the first place."

Katarina snapped at him in Swedish and Virgil gave an equally sharp response. They exchanged some more not exactly friendly-sounding statements, until the door creaked again. Virgil and Katarina froze, and looked deadly pale all of a sudden.

A quiet woman's voice spoke to them for a few seconds, then the door closed again.

"I... I suppose we should really postpone this," said Virgil. His voice was rough, and he had to clear his throat again. Katarina gave him a handkerchief and he wiped his face. "I don't want to risk waking Father."

Mel nodded. "Tomorrow?"

He didn't return her gaze. "We'll see. Good night, Mel."

"Promise you'll come back," Mel demanded. "You can't give up now."

"I'll try." And with that, the connection was cut off.

"That wasn't very nice," said Katarina. Virgil shrugged his shoulders and shut off the notebook before setting it aside. Katarina didn't make any attempt to help, even as he cursed under his breath. His hands were trembling from the effort, most of it focused on moving despite the pain.

It was agonizing to watch, but eventually, he laid down again, head on his arms, putting as little pressure as possible on his legs and back.

"What the hell was I thinking, Kata?", Virgil said with a sigh. The anger had dissipated into thin air. He didn't even have the strength to cry. "Going up against Father? That's a joke."

"Don't say that." Katrina stroked his back. He winced under the touch and Katarina pulled her hand back as if stung by a bee.

"Sorry." She pushed up one of the legs of his pajamas. The bandages were still fast in place, wrapped all the way up to the waist. There was a vaguely green shimmer that pressed through the fabric by now. "Does it feel better yet?"

"You don't want that answer."

Katarina shrugged. The clock had struck three AM just a few minutes ago. She climbed over on the other side of the wide bed, and laid down beside him. It was quiet for several minutes.

"Were you really awake, or did you just say that?", Virgil asked.

"I was," Katarina said. She searched for words, and couldn't help switching back to Swedish. "Christan and Nick were talking about us. Your father still thinks we're the most logical match, but Nick wants us to decide for ourselves." She rolled on her back and covered her face in her hands for a moment. She was turning eighteen in little more than a year. The date had stood between them since their childhood, like the pillar of a prison wall. "Can I ask you something?"

Virgil stared at the blanket without actually seeing anything. "Sure."

"How did you find out if you like girls or boys?"

He frowned, turning his head to look at her. Katarina had her eyes fixed on the ceiling and pretended she didn't notice. "Well, that's hard to say. I mean, I've got Mel, but if I had... met a nice guy, I guess that would have worked out as well."

Katarina nodded, as if she had expected that. "Yes, but how could you tell?"

Virgil thought about it for a while. "Well, at first it's just that middle school kind of stuff. You see someone, you think "hey, that person is cute". You know, because kids get taught the concept of relationships and so on. I noticed pretty fast that I like boys and girls both."

"Wasn't that difficult?"

"Maybe. Mel and I were friends for years before we got together, I mean you saw that, right? Damn it, that seems so long ago..." He rubbed his face and yawned. "I think it doesn't really matter. Not for the real issues."

"The real problems?", Katarina echoed.

"I knew I was in love with her for a year at least." He interrupted himself with another yawn. "This story could get long. Do you still want to hear it?"

"Yes please," said Katarina.

"Alright then. You see, I really wanted these tattoos. But, being underage, that was difficult as hell. I wasn't exactly good at pretending everything was fine, and they figured out the fake ID rather fast. But somebody at a studio directed me to someone only referred to as "the Rainbow Guy". The man we met last Thursday, remember?"

"Hard to forget about him," said Katarina and giggled. She pushed back the sleeve of his shirt to admire the dozens of flowers set into his skin, a variety of shapes and colors, all in a perfectly balanced pattern.

"Mel wasn't with me that day, and when I reached the address I had been given, I thought I had gotten lost somehow. Aperture is far away from any major city and I doubt there's much in the way of crime going on, but even so, I had ended up in the shadiest part of town. I was actually considering just turning back and waiting until I turned 18 after all."

"And then?", Katarina asked, after he hadn't said anything for almost three minutes.

"Rainbow came up to me and asked if I was looking for something. I wasn't even paying attention to him so much, it was getting dark and I was nervous, but I gave him the note and he asked me into his studio. It's not all that big from the outside, but he owns the house and the whole ground floor is converted into a work place. There are tons of photographs from past projects and drawing equipment for sketches and so on.

So, I followed, and then it sort of hit me." Virgil scratched the ginger traces of beard under his chin and looked at the opposite wall. Katarina noticed him blush anyway.

"I saw him for the first time when he flicked on the lights inside and I just stood there and stared at him. I mean, you met him, I suppose it's a matter of taste, but... I saw him and thought I'd never seen such a gorgeous man before." Virgil smiled at the memory. "He's always changing the color of that one strand at the front. It was a sort of violet back then, but at the right angle it could also be gold or green or blue, depending on the light source."

He paused, as if he expected Katarina to comment. She didn't.

"Anyway, we sat down and he offered me tea. I didn't take any that day, but it was a nice gesture. He asked me if I had a concrete idea for this, or if I was just doing this for the sake of feeling like a rebel. Laugh if you want, that's okay. Anyway, I had made some sketches myself, and showed them to him. I think he was thrilled at the first sight, but he asked if I was absolutely sure, because this would hurt a lot and something that big for a first tattoo is unusual. I mean, you're carrying that around your whole life, more or less, so it's no easy decision.

Maybe Mel is right when she says he's shady. I was underage, and I'm damn sure he knew that, but he agreed anyway. And he has a few... quirks."

"Yeah," Katarina interrupted. She shivered a little. "First off, he always talks in such a husky voice, it's impossible to tell if he is flirting or not. Second, who calls a casual acquaintance "beautiful" as a rule? And he has no idea what personal space is."

Virgil laughed, he couldn't help it, despite the bolt of pain it sent through his bruised back. "That's Rainbow for you. I was a bit startled at first as well. He insisted on checking my arms before even considering the deal. It was... a bit weird. His way of examining is more like stroking. Caressing, really." The pink spots on his cheeks darkened. "And he kept talking to himself the whole while. I only picked up some, I think he was partially speaking another language." He rubbed his jaw and didn't look at Katarina. "I mean, it was weird hearing him mutter about what a beautiful skin I had and how he planned the designs, but it kinda felt good too, you know? I had just met this incredibly handsome guy and he was completely caught up in admiring _me._ " Virgil had to clear his throat to continue, before his voice became just a little too husky to pass as an effect of the late hour.

"Even the guy that gave me the address warned me Rainbow has no sense for personal space. But I noticed he only does that with certain people. He didn't touch Mel in the slightest. Even though that might be because she was staring daggers at him thirty seconds into the conversation."

"You think he is interested in you?"

Virgil shrugged. The black metal lining the end of the bed didn't change, no matter how long he stared at it. "I don't know. Maybe. I thought that too in the beginning, but he's so obsessed with his work, maybe it's just that he's after. I mean, admittedly, his other works were great, he's got the photos posted all over his studio, but... it was all just small stuff."

"You're his masterpiece."

Virgil gave up on trying to hide his blush and tried to bury a little more into the blanket. "I guess." Katarina giggled and nudged him.

"Hey, I thought you have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah." The almost nostalgic tone dropped out of his voice in a split second. "You see, to get back to the point, it doesn't matter who you're into. I met Rainbow, and... it made me reconsider my whole relationship with Mel. We weren't a couple back then, but if I was sure about her, why would I fall for Rainbow at all?"

Katarina drooped. "That sounds awful."

"Make a guess." Virgil shrugged and dropped his face onto the blanket. "It wouldn't work out. He is too old for me anyway."

"Do you miss him?"

There was a long pause. Eventually, Virgil raised his head again and looked at Katarina, half a dozen questions written all over his face. "Not... so much, I guess." It was more a question than an answer. "That we ran into him is a funny coincidence, but... if I had to pick, Mel would be my first choice, any time."

Katarina smiled. "So what's the problem?"

He tried to slap her hand away, unable to fight a grin, but couldn't without falling flat on the face again. "I suppose so. Maybe it's that kind of celebrity crush everyone has at some point."

Katarina giggled and laid back down, shifting a little closer to him. "So... how did it go after that examination?"

"He took some measurements. Then he said he would work over the designs and send me an email when he was done. It took him three days and after that we made some appointments. Mel insisted on coming with me the next time."

"She doesn't like him."

Virgil sighed. "Not a bit. I don't know, maybe she really is jealous he's so... intimate with his customers. Mel never seemed the type for that. She's probably just worried about me."

"Is he really such an untrustworthy figure? You know, in touch with... bad people?"

"How would I know?", Virgil muttered. "Maybe, maybe not. He can help himself, if he's lived in that part of town for a while, that's for sure." Katarina frowned, but didn't ask any further.

"Say what you want about his establishment, it's super clean. Looked better than some of the big ones I visited first, to be honest. He's a perfectionist. I suppose that's the only thing that kept Mel from dragging me back to Aperture again, if I wanted to or not."

"Did it hurt?"

Virgil raised an eyebrow at her and automatically went back to English. "Make a guess, darling."

Katarina grimaced. "But you did that voluntarily?"

"Don't you dare," Virgil all but snapped. "If you#r going to ask why I keep complaining about the training, you can go back to your own bed right now. That's different. And, seen from now, it was a joke. A few needlepricks aren't that bad."

Katarina sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs. "No need to get so upset," she mumbled defensively. She wanted to say she hadn't wanted to ask that, but what was the point if both knew it was a lie? "How long did that take?"

"No idea. Mel and I sneaked out on the evenings, for about a week. Rainbow said he was a student at Aperture too. That explains why he knew the schedules so well. He did the outlines first, that's pretty much the worst part. He started on the left side at the wrist and worked his way up." Virgil shuddered. "Two people I had a crush on at the same time, and I made an idiot of myself in front of both. That's an achievement, right?" He sighed and rubbed the golden tendrils entwining his wrist. "I'm surprised he didn't laugh. I was probably the most cowardly customer he ever had."

Katarina didn't get to ask the obvious question.

"Well, it HURT, capital letters," Virgil said. "You never know that before, not really. It was hard enough to hold still, meaning we had to take breaks and all. No idea how he managed something this perfect while I was cringing like some frightened puppy." He produced the ghost of a smile. "Mel was holding my hand the whole time. Otherwise I wouldn't have gone through with it."

"You wanted to impress her?"

"No! … Maybe. A bit. I mean, she stayed with me every time even though she didn't have to, and that was hours... of me whining, that is."

"I think that was pretty brave."

Virgil laughed. "Thanks, but no need to stroke my ego. Regardless, I don't regret it."

"What happened when the others saw it for the first time? Your classmates, I mean."

"Well, the reaction was... mixed. Some were really impressed, some freaked out. Helen in particular. She is always so worried about everyone. Director Johnson got really mad, he wrote an angry email to Uncle Nikolaj, but that was about it." Virgil shrugged and struggled to sit up. The pain in his legs had dulled over time, it wasn't always the same, sometimes more, sometimes less. Today had been one of the bad days. Katarina grabbed his arm to steady him until he could stretch his legs.

"Thanks. I'm not exactly popular or anything. People already started speculating if that would get me kicked off the school, you know, the usual rumors. Nothing came out of it, of course."

"What's Rainbow's real name?"

"I have absolutely no idea." Katarina squeezed his hand and let him lean against her shoulder. "He never told me. I looked on the Internet, but he's only referred to as the Rainbow Guy. Even among other artists. I couldn't even figure out what his second language was. Sounded like Spanish or something." Virgil stared at the ceiling and frowned. "We went completely off topic, though. Why did you ask how to tell if you like boys or girls?"

Katarina shifted uncomfortably. She tugged at her only barely appropriate shorts as if to adjust them and fixed her ponytail. The movement forced Virgil to sit up. With some effort, he managed to find a position where he didn't have to put pressure on his back.

She raked her silver-blond hair with slender fingers now formed into claws. Virgil didn't push, just watched her. They sat on the bed for several minutes, not doing anything else, until Katarina burst out: "What if we really have to marry each other?" She clenched her hands to fists in her lap so hard her whole body shook. "I... I know you don't... like me in that way. But it could still work out. Theoretically, you know? But what if I don't even like boys? Christan... he will... And Nikolaj..." A tear ran over her cheek and she buried her face in her hands.

Virgil blinked at her. It was past four am now, and the puzzle pieces were heavier than bricks, but they fell into place nonetheless.

"Katarina, that won't happen. It's the twenty-first century." Katarina shook her head. Virgil laid his arms around her and she all but collapsed into the hug. He ignored the pain flaring up in his legs. Back at Aperture, Mel had been sitting in his lap on a regular basis, so why did he overreact now? "Father won't make us. He can't." His voice lacked too much certainty to be comforting. "And if you don't like guys, that's okay. Girls have some really big advantages, after all. "

Katarina nodded and rested her head on his chest. She closed her eyes, suppressing a yawn. "Thank you. You're the best brother I could wish for."

"Technically, and legally, we're cousins since Uncle Nikolaj adopted you," Virgil corrected. "Who cares what my father thinks. We can tell Uncle Nikolaj. He won't care, I'm sure."

"Does Christan know you're into guys?", Katarina asked, too fast to stop herself.

Virgil snorted. "As if I'd tell him anything. Do you want to stay up until breakfast or do I still get some sleep tonight?"

Katarina sat up and stretched, her features already calm again. "Oh God no. Sleep sounds great. Do you need help with anything?"

"I can manage." He slipped under the blanket more or less elegantly, and definitely not suppressing a groan when his legs protested with a wave of molten lead that spread all the way up into his back.

"You should dress like that more often. Maybe you meet a nice young lady."

Katarina rolled her eyes and slapped him on the shoulder. "You're such an idiot, Virgil. I'll never tell you anything again." She looked away for a second, her smile dimming. "Good night." She kissed him on the cheek.

Before she could even stand up, heavy steps sounded on the corridor. They both stopped and listened. The steps came closer. Virgil reacted a split second faster. He flicked off the lights and swung the blanket over Katarina, who went limp as a rag doll and just collapsed on the bed, pretending to sleep.

The door opened, the light almost blocked out by a tall figure. It peered into the dim room, gave a satisfied grunt, and closed the door again, leaving them in darkness. The steps faded away in the distance, much slower than they had approached.

"Marrying? You and me?" Virgil grumbled. "Like hell." Katarina didn't answer. She had already fallen asleep. Virgil sighed and laid an arm around her. Her skin was icy, except where he was fairly sure was that bruise. He would have to talk to Uncle Nikolaj.

It was quiet.

"Well shit," Virgil mumbled. Even if he had wanted to move, he couldn't have. "Aren't long distance relationships just the worst."


	12. Past performances

It's been a while, I know. Thanks to everyone who commented, that's a big honor.

By the way, there are some new artworks up on the blog, including a concept of Rick, and an illustration of Chell and Wheatley's embarrassing adventure from chapter 8 "Flashback".

It's another chapter for Nigel, and some more backstory. Sorry, but I love him, so not sorry. ;)

Have fun!

* * *

Helen raised her hand to knock, but hesitated for a second. Sometimes she despised this place, despised her own stupid determination. She was just one person, what did she think she could do? Looking out for every last student in this crazy so-called "school"?

 _You're not alone,_ she told herself. _You've got Ben and Rick. Somebody has to make a point._

Helen rapped on the door. The music in the room was cut off with a startled, dissonant shriek. There was a long pause.

"Who's there?"

"It's Helen. Can I come in?"

Another pause. "Yeah, sure." In a mumble, the voice added: "As if No is an option."

Helen opened the door and stepped inside. For the room of a fourteen year old wannabe rocker, it was astoundingly tidy. Only some clothes were hanging over the back of a chair and the desk was riddled with papers full of pencil scribbles. Helen didn't take a closer look, but most of it seemed to be some kind of complicated notation, letters and symbols and all kinds of other cryptic notes. One way of composing music, in other words. Nobody else should be able to make sense of it. Helen wondered if that was the point or just a side product.

She had never been in here, not in the three years Nigel had been at Aperture. The room looked almost empty, barely anything personal visible. One single picture frame hung on the wall. It sported the image of some musicians on a stage, obviously a metal band. They had set their autographs under each person in silver sharpie.

Nigel watched her steadily from the edge of his bed. His hands still rested on his electric guitar. "What is it?"

Helen looked around for a seat and had to make due with removing some papers from the desk chair. "I just wanted to check by. You weren't at lunch."

"I wasn't feeling well." Nigel looked down at the guitar, then slipped the strap from his shoulder and put it away. In an automatic motion, he grabbed a handkerchief from a box beside the bed and brushed his fingertips over it. The paper soaked with red in the matter of seconds.

"How long have you been playing?", Helen asked. She thought she knew a little bit about most students, but even after that incident between him and Virgil, she only knew what other people had told her and what was in the student profiles. Julie said he was fairly chatty and obviously never understood the concept of interior monologue, whatever that meant. Even Alyssa didn't know anything concrete, despite her obvious crush on him. And all Helen had gathered was that he was one of the students that he had asked to go home over spring break for the first time.

"Pretty much since I can remember. Second grade or so."

"You should have said. We need some more help for the musical, if you'd like."

He shot her a quick glance and then turned back to wiping down the fingerboard and strings.

"Okay."

Helen didn't expect a more detailed answer, but waited anyway. She was proven correct.

"Did something happen this morning?"

"No more than usual." Nigel shrugged his shoulders and wound the handkerchief around the fingertips of his left hand. "You know, it's nice of you to come by and all, but I'm not a kid. And I also don't tear up over every idiotic comment," he added in a mumble. He paused and his eyes wandered to the door. "Anything else? I didn't skip any classes."

"There's no problem at all," Helen assured. "We've just never really talked to each other. You're also on the student's committee, remember?"

"I know. I wrote the introduction a while back."

Helen shrugged and stood up. No point in talking to him now. She would have to ask around, after neither Stephen nor David wanted to spit out what happened. This had been building up for a while, if Ben was correct, starting with the last time they had met at Julie's café. "Right. If there's any issue, just ask or text me, okay?"

He nodded and flicked something that was invisible to Helen off his khaki shorts.

Helen stopped before opening the door. The question slipped out of her mouth before even fully crossing through her conscious mind.

"Why are you always wearing gloves like that? Isn't that uncomfortable?"

Nigel stared at her and the expression in his sunset-colored eyes turned to granite. Helen could see his fingers dig into the handkerchief. She had never consciously realized it, but she could not remember a single time he had not been wearing one or the other variety of fingerless gloves. This pair in particular was black and made of heavy leather. High quality, too.

Nigel's voice could have cut glass. "Why do you care?"

Helen blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. "Just asking, I suppose. I thought it might, I don't know, slow your movements or so. And it's not good for the skin."

"So what of it?"

Helen felt her eyebrows furrow. "I merely asked if it was a fashion statement or something else. There's no reason to get rude," she said calmly.

Nigel let out an annoyed snort and looked away. "I guess. I have my reasons. Can you leave now? Please."

Should she? There was something up, and she had a bad feeling about it, but she couldn't force him to talk. Why did boys always have to be this stubborn? It had been hard enough to teach Rick that lesson, and Stephen and David were on a good way. Like there was any shame in having feelings.

But who was she, if not a overprotective wannabe godmother? Their first interaction had been dragging the boy to Virgil for a forced apology. The point had been made, but she doubted it made her a trustworthy person in his eyes.

"That's a No, then," said Nigel. Helen didn't like the smile that followed. A fourteen year old shouldn't look this bitter.

"Fine. If you insist. At least you're not the gossipy type." He didn't let Helen gather her thoughts for a question. "Maybe it's true and everyone wants someone to know their secrets." He gave her a level look and opened the Velcro fly on the right glove before slipping it off. The skin was much paler where the glove covered it all the time, contrasted against his arms that at least came in contact with the redirected and transformed sunlight in the underground parks.

"You'll wish you didn't ask," said Nigel. Helen probably imagined the hint of glee in his voice. "Well, too late I guess. Must be hard to know everyone's secrets, right? Isn't that helper complex driving you crazy step by step?"

He held out his hand, palm up. Helen stared at it, then his face. He didn't move, eyes set on something she couldn't see. Helen knew that look. People got it when they tried not to break down just yet and flinch away.

Helen's voice was flat with horror. "What happened?"

The inside of Nigel's palm was covered in scars. Helen knew what certain injuries looked like. Julie had scars all over her fingers from her cooking experiments, stray drops of chemicals hitting her skin, or accidentally touching a hot plate. This was different.

There were the lines of deep cuts, probably made with a knife of some sort, and the perfectly round spots Helen couldn't help but associate with burning cigarettes. There was a pattern to it, and they stopped exactly at the base of the fingers and wrist. Out of sight, in other words.

"Depends on which one you're asking about." Helen only gave him a blank stare, still trying to put this together with anything she knew. He gave her a sarcastic smile and pointed at a broad line from the index finger into the middle. "I slammed a door in the middle of the night. Not on purpose, but whatever." He followed the line to a burn mark on the base of the hand close to the outer edge. "I erased Sarah's recordings of American Idol. That was on purpose, admittedly. I wasn't the brightest kid." He listed three or four more examples, while Helen sat down heavily in the chair again. Her head felt like packed in cotton wool.

"Oh, and of course, her farewell gift just before I came here. Guess she was mad I got the scholarship instead of her." He had taken off the other glove as well and showed her a three inches long slash mark that crossed all the smaller scars from the base of the little finger to the fleshy part of the thumb. He stared at her in challenge, then folded his arms. It was probably supposed to look defiant. It could almost conceal the tremors running through his scrawny body.

"So I told you. Happy now?"

Helen wished herself far away. Sometimes she wished she wouldn't ever have heard of Aperture. But if she could save others, her own feelings just had to take one for the team. She _was_ happy. Most of the time. That's why she helped people. "Who did that?"

The bitter smile didn't change. "Well, my parents and various doctors would say I did. I'm 'unstable', you know." He scratched the base of his left hand, riddled with small parallel cuts. "As if a kid would even get that idea," he added under his breath.

Helen didn't say anything. After a moment of waiting, Nigel shrugged his shoulders and stretched his fingers, as if he was not tense at all. A drop of blood landed on his trousers, and he let out an annoyed sigh when wiping it off didn't accomplish anything. "Dammit," he muttered.

"Who is Sarah?" Helen vaguely remembered the name, but it wasn't like there weren't at least three Sarahs at Aperture.

"My step-sister. Four years older than me. She wasn't too thrilled Mum and Dad adopted another child beside her. That would be me, of course."

"You're adopted?" _Really, Helen? That's the first thing you ask?_ It was strange, but the voice almost sounded like Gladys. She would say something like this, if she managed to care at all.

"Yeah. They weren't happy to put me into a school on the other end of the country. Me being 'unpredictable' and so on. But I got a scholarship for one of the most expensive private schools in the country, so it would have been stupid to say No. At least I don't have to be at Black Mesa with Sarah."

"Your sister did this to you?", Helen repeated. She didn't want to believe this. After seeing Christan Hansen and not few other parents, she shouldn't be surprised. Boarding schools weren't prisons. Sometimes, they were more like a refuge. "And people believed you did that to yourself?" She had to repeat it. Aperture was not a friendly place. But that didn't mean there weren't worse.

"Don't act so surprised. Half of Aperture's students have one or the other... "quirk" that qualified them for this place. You know, troublemakers whose parents happen to be rich? Or guys like me that are lucky." He was about to put on the gloves again, but dismissed it and put them on the bedside table instead. His fingertips had stopped bleeding, revealing several layers of crusts, and Helen found him staring contemplatively at the guitar again.

"You must really love playing guitar."

It was the first time Nigel showed a genuine smile. The tension in his shoulders eased a little. Helen had years of experience reading people. If you found someone's passion, you had a powerful tool in a conversation. "Oh yeah," he said. "Only thing that really makes me happy."

"That's great. I'd love to hear some of it. A lot of people would."

Helen tried to lay her hand into his in a comforting gesture. Nigel jumped as if she had slapped him. The smile vanished as if it never had been there.

Helen raised her hands in apology. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." He nodded, but the caution had returned into his eyes. The scars had been slightly rough, bulges and valleys where there shouldn't be any, thickening the skin. It was a miracle he could move, let alone play guitar.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

Nigel stared at her blankly for a second until his eyes wandered down to the crusts on his fingers. "Doesn't really matter." He looked at her, then the guitar. "Wanna hear something?"

Helen hesitated. The not insignificant amount of blood made her cringe, but still... Before she could answer, Nigel had already placed the guitar on his knees, thrown the strap over his skinny shoulders, and struck the first chord.

Helen knew Nigel loved metal, and generally everything that was loud and hard to understand. But the melody he played now was soft, a sad, haunting tune that let the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"You're not gonna tell anyone, right?" He didn't look up.

"Of course not. I just don't understand... why would you hide that?"

His fingers slid over the strings in a hypnotizing pattern and Helen found it hard to focus. She had played the violin for years. Why had she stopped in the first place? Maybe it was just what she needed to calm down from time to time.

"Nobody would believe the truth anyways."

"I do."

Nigel shrugged his shoulders without breaking the melody for one second. "Good for you. Last time that happened they laughed at me for losing to a girl. As long as I don't run into her again, it's fine."

"No, it's not!" Helen needed to pause. She hadn't wanted to shout like that. "It's not. But I can't force you to do anything."

"Exactly."

"But you want to go home over spring break?"

His eyes flickered over to the bedside table for a second. There was another picture frame. The photograph showed Nigel, approximately ten years old, with his brown hair cropped short, kneeling next to a dog that was about his height. The child's hand were almost completely buried in the long, tricolor fur, and he leaned against the dog's shoulder in a protective gesture. _Spyro_ , the scribbles on the frame said.

"Sarah is only home on the weekend and I don't plan to stay that long. She will go where ever after school. Maybe she grows up to be less sadistic, or she doesn't, I really don't care." He changed chords and his fingers left a glistening red layer over the strings. "I just hope Spyro is alright. Sarah would be up to hurt him just for messing with me."

Helen ignored the mumbled addition. Interior monologue. "That's a rather bleak outlook."

Nigel grinned at her with all the charm of a young teenager and played a guitar solo that was fast and loud enough to make Helen jump, before letting the sound fade out until only the hum of the amplifier remained. Nigel looked down at his fingers and wiped them on the handkerchief again, leaving new red smears.

"We'll see about that." If the sudden cheer in his voice was fake, he was a brilliant actor. "Now, dinner is still a while to go, want to hear anything specific? Everybody else had to audition too, right?"

"Only if you let me treat your poor fingers afterwards."

Nigel ran his clean hand through his ruffled brown hair with an exaggerated sigh. "Whatever." He grinned. "I got this really neat new song I'm working on. Some metal would fit your project too, I bet. You can at least give it a shot."

Helen smiled. "I'd love to."


	13. Bugs and other problems

Sorry this took a while. It wasn't planned at this point in the timeline, but I'm way too excited and it fits almost anywhere. My friend vinecat more or less prompted this in our conversation and I just had to write it.

Did you ever wonder what happened to the mantis men? Here's a guess: They're alive.

Comments are always appreciated.

* * *

There were days even a clumsy person like Wheatley could be a genius. On these days he had incredible ideas, and nothing seemed to go wrong. You could give him things that broke easily, and they didn't.

Today was no such day.

"Luv, look out!" Chell had seen the energy ball coming a good twenty seconds before he called out, and dived out of the way. The long fall boots clicked on the hard floor as she rushed over white tiles. Sometimes she thought Gladys sent only Wheatley with her because Chell solved the test chambers too fast for her taste.

She somehow juggled the Portal Gun in one hand, and grabbed his arm with the other. It was enough to spin him around. They both crashed to the ground. The ricocheting energy ball rebounded from the wall and exploded into whit light barely a foot from their heads.

"Oh, oh yes, I knew that, I saw that!"

Chell sighed and got up, scowling at nothing in particular. The long fall boots didn't protect her knees when she fell. Or saved a moron's sweet backside over and over.

Wheatley read her face correctly and shut up. "Sorry."

She offered her hand and helped him to his feet. At least now she knew how to solve the puzzle. She pushed Wheatley against the wall with one hand, quietly commanding him not to move.

"But... I can help!", he offered. Chell shook her head and turned back to the puzzle. His puppy eyes didn't get them anything in here, adorable as they were.

Blue portal, orange portal, little ball of light

 _Testing everyday, I'm sick of this... shite?_.

A tiny smile crossed Chell's face. Poetry had never been her strong side.

The Energy Ball fizzled when it hit the receiver. The blue line turned orange and the door slid open with a quiet mechanical buzz. Chell made one step towards it before she stopped again. Usually, Wheatley was the first one to run to the door once Chell had solved the puzzle. Gladys had almost fried him with a trap on the way out, and not just once.

Her hope was in vain. Wheatley had somehow moved to the other end of the room, without getting hit by anything or falling down a pit filled with goo or just a very hard floor. Chell portaled over to him. There was a lever sticking out of the wall, and Wheatley was excitedly trying to get it to move. Chell had noticed it before, but ignored it. It didn't seem to belong to the test and she didn't have the nerve to stay here longer than necessary.

"This is unimportant," Gladys' voice echoed over the speakers. Even the mechanical repercussions that always made her sound like a robot couldn't hide the annoyance in her voice. "We still have three test chambers ahead." _Get back to work_ , in other words.

Chell put her hand on Wheatley's shoulder. He looked at her, his blue eyes sparkling in excitement.

"No, wait, I want to know what happens."

"It's not connected to anything," Gladys answered him. "Although I was told not to change that part of the chamber in any way, without a given reason..."

"Pff, as if I believe you anything!", Wheatley countered. He grabbed the lever with both hands and leaned on it with all his weight. The metal groaned. It looked rusty, as if it hadn't been used for years. Chell stared at the Portal Gun for a moment, then put it aside. Portaling him to the next room was an option, but not the one she preferred.

So instead, she grabbed the lever with one hand, and leaned on Wheatley with the other, to show the lever wouldn't work anyway.

"Oh good, now you're both wasting our time," Gladys remarked. She was still in the middle of speaking when the lever gave way with a loud _clunk_.

"See, I told you!", Wheatley said with a proud grin. Then the floor opened beneath their feet and they fell.

* * *

In general, Chell was used to falling. It happened all the time during the tests. Usually, she had to jump off somewhere to get enough momentum for a long jump or similar stunts. It was fun, most of the time. The boots cushioned any impact and even though Gladys tended to call her a fat eagle, the sensation of flying was something she would miss a lot when she had finished school. Skydiving was always an option, but it wasn't the same. The point was, Chell only liked falling when it was her own choice.

"Uhm, okay, uh, I didn't expect that!" Wheatley's words were almost swept away by the wind. They were falling through some kind of tunnel. The rusted remains of a ladder accompanied them. It connected side entrances filled with plants and some things Chell didn't want to inspect any further. The air was wet. How long had they been falling? She knew the long fall boots could take a lot. Had the limits ever been tested? Nobody would be crazy enough to do that, right?

"Uh, do you think the impact will hurt? How far are we falling?" She had still been clutching his shoulder when the floor opened, and now it was Wheatley who had wrapped his arms around her. She doubted he could catch her when they hit the bottom. No, it was just a search for comfort, however brief it would be. It was funny. His glasses hadn't moved a bit the whole time, as if they were glued in place. Once he buried his face in her neck they probably couldn't anyway.

Chell didn't try to answer. Wind was rushing in her ears, but she thought to hear Gladys' voice echo down the shaft. It was too far away to make out any words.

The old Aperture was just rumors among the students. If they somehow survived falling from this height, and didn't lie there in horrible pain and _then_ died, maybe they would get to see some of it. Then again, the "junkyard", as they had Mr Rattman heard calling it, was supposed to be full of toxic corrosive substances. It was simpler and cheaper to let it flood the empty salt mines and destroy whatever trash was kicked down there than pumping the goo to a safer location. Chell had a vague idea why the company Aperture Science had taken to some desperate measures. Including turning itself into an expensive and little monitored international private school.

The light from above had vanished a while ago. The blue shimmer didn't come from the entrance. It got stronger as they were falling and the world began to slow. The wind stopped numbing and deafening them. With a hard rebound, they came to a halt.

Chell nudged Wheatley, not exactly gently, until he raised his head. He didn't let go of her.

"What? What's going on? Are we dead? Oh, no we're not. Great!" He looked around. "Uh... why are we floating?"

They were still falling, but much slower now. The sound was almost inaudible, but they were getting closer, and the blue waves around them were hard to mistake for anything else.

"Uhm, I hate to play bad advocate here, but don't you think it's a bit weird that there should be an excursion funnel so far down? Old Aperture has been closed for a while now, and I'm sure they didn't have those back then."

Chell refrained from telling him it was called "devil's advocate". Wheatley was right. This was simply too good to be true. Now that they weren't falling with around a bazillion miles an hour anymore, she could read the signs next to the entrances.

 _B complex_

 _Praying mantis test chambers two levels down. Please follow the yellow line._

 _4000 meters_

"Rick said they used to turn people into mutant insects," Wheatley said in a tiny voice. "Gladys said so and she should know. Right? ...Right?"

"Bullshit." Chell stroked his neck. It was a neat little trick she had learned by accident, or rather saw Mel use it on Virgil. People were simple, really. Wheatley relaxed a little bit, and leaned against her again. "So now all we have to do is... find a way up after we're done going down. Opposite of up. Easy, huh?"

Chell nodded. The floor was close enough to make details visible. Lower Aperture was a mess. Rusted steel beams, debris, and all kinds of plants had formed an industrial jungle between gangways connecting platforms. The excursion funnel was located in the only possible place it could be, a fixed platform near the wall, similar to the floor of the test chambers they were used to.

The funnel abruptly stopped and they fell again.

Neither had the time to say anythin. Wheatley just gave a startled yelp, then a second funnel caught them. Chell suppressed a shrug and scowled at a rusted sign that said something about monkeys. Her back hurt from all the almost-impacts and Wheatley didn't make it better by clinging to her. She grabbed his hands and moved them to a more comfortable position, not waiting for agreement or even a question. Wheatley didn't even seem to notice.

"Uhm, Chell... luv..." She snapped to attention immediately. Wheatley never called her by name unless he had to find her in a crowd or in more special moments. And when he was really, really scared.

Now that was nothing unusual, Wheatley got scared by a lot of things, including, and mainly, Gladys. But Chell's gut told her she should listen to him. He was staring at something behind her, in the direction the excursion funnel was carrying them. Chell wiggled out of his grasp to look around.

Somebody was waiting for them. The funnel's glow made her almost blind but she could see the shapes of three people, probably men, on a platform under the funnel.

"I thought Old Aperture was deserted, be-because of the toxic stuff in the air and so on...", Wheatley said. Chell squinted, hoping her eyes were betraying her. Did the men have _wings_? No, that was silly.

Aperture did a lot of crazy stuff, but bio-engineering on humans needed a ton of permits and warrants from the government, even in the fifties or whenever those test had supposedly taken place.

Wheatley didn't look convinced, but he didn't say anything. That was not a good sign.

As expected, the funnel carried them over the platform and then shut off. The fall was undramatic, around twenty feet. Even Wheatley didn't manage to hurt himself from that height. The boots did what they were supposed to.

"Well, what have we here."

Chell stared. Even if she wouldn't have been mute by choice, she probably wouldn't have been able to say anything. The men wore jumpsuits in an ugly light brown color. The fabric had faded out over time and so had the Aperture logo on the breast pocket. The men were all middle-aged. As far as Chell could tell, at least. She tried to concentrate on the one at the front. One step at a time. He was a heavyweight man, under average height and with hair that must have been brown once, but had faded to a strange grayish green. Two antennae protruded from his forehead. Black eyes scrutinized the two intruders. At least he didn't have compound eyes like his two buddies. Translucent wings were folded shut on the backs of the jumpsuits.

"It's been a while since we had visitors," the man in the back said. His voice was barely a hissing, like cicadas chirping at night, just more unpleasant. It was a sickening sound.

"S-See... so it is true," Wheatley whispered. His voice was high-pitched, almost inaudible over the humming of the excursion funnel shutting down.

Chell looked around. She didn't have her portal gun, but there had to be a way to get out of this. She couldn't see the bottom next to the platform. It vanished in a fine white mist that all but covered the shape of old-fashioned cranes rising in the abyss. It was impossible to tell what awaited them down there.

"I wouldn't advise you to do that," the first man said. "There's only junk and toxic goo down there. Most of the old offices were flooded years ago. For safety reasons. Who knows how long this stuff holds up." He made a swiping gesture indicating everything around them. One of the men in the back, the one that had spoken before, stepped forward.

"Let's go." It sounded like there were insects crawling over his vocal chords. Chell shuddered and hoped it was from the cold.  
"You're right. We should go," the man at the front said. He extended a hand – thankfully still human – and wanted to lead Chell to where ever their hideout was. She grabbed his wrist and flipped him around. The man gave a choked sound of surprise and stumbled forward. Chell used his momentum to trip him. He was too slow to catch his footing and unceremoniously crashed to the ground. Chell spun on the others, every muscle tense in anticipation.

The man with the bug voice launched himself at her, faster than she could have imagined. Only her trained reflexes made her dodge the attack. The long fore-legs, armed with razor-like spikes, slashed through the air inches from her head. His momentum carried the mantis man past her, and he tumbled over the edge with a hiss.

The third mantis man didn't attack immediately. He waited, slowly walking around her to look for the perfect opportunity to strike. Chell wouldn't give him one. They circled each other over the length of the platform. As much as she despised it, she stared right into the black compound eyes. Which is why she didn't see the debris behind her. Her foot caught in it and, just for a second, Chell lost her balance, landing hard on her back. The mantis man lunged. He didn't have the same claw-like arms, but she didn't want to find out what he could do either way. Chell drew in her legs and kicked him in the ribs mid-jump. There was an audible crunch and the man folded up like a rag. He dropped to the floor, hissing and whimpering. The sound was not human, but also not really insect. A gooey green stain spread over the fabric of the jumpsuit.

It was a hopeless fight, of course it was. She couldn't win against three grown men, not without a weapon. All she could do is buy some time to flee. And on top of that, she had to look out for-

Wait.

Wheatley had been awfully quiet the last minutes.

"Now, don't do anything stupid, girl. It would be a shame to hurt'ya little friend."

The words were mangled, not coming from a human throat, but there was a broad southern accent to them, like a stereotypical Texan in those old TV shows.

Chell turned towards the voice and met Wheatley's terrified blue eyes. The fourth man was tall and lean, his dark skin turned a sickly gray-green, with mandibles protruding from what had been a human mouth once. He had wrapped one spiked forearm loosely around Wheatley's throat, and his mandibles clicked right next to his face, brushing the boy's glasses from time to time. The other hand had to be human, as he had twisted one of Wheatley's arms behind his back.

"I'm sorry," Wheatley whispered. "I'll never touch anything we don't know what it does ever again. I promise. Just don't leave me. I don't wanna get eaten."

"Found the old entrance, huh?", the fourth man rasped. Wheatley shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut, as if he hoped the situation would change when he opened them again. It didn't. Or maybe he just didn't want Chell to see him cry.

"Dear me, you got some spunk in you, girl." Chell winced, but didn't dare to move. The short man that had spoken first got to his feet, groaning. Behind her, Chell could hear the buzzing of wings, probably attacker number two. And number three was just helped to his feet by number one.

"Let's go, before Johnson sends anyone else."

A hand settled on her shoulder. A human hand. Thank God. Chell didn't see any way to get out of this just now. She had to follow. Some part of her wanted to be mad at Wheatley. The one time they could have used him, his dark self, the confident, and a little too violent version of the clumsy, adorable, and sometimes annoying man she loved, he didn't show up.

But she just couldn't. It wasn't his fault, really. Chell had made more than clear that she didn't like that side of him. He simply did what she asked of him – just in the wrong moments.

The mantis men lead them through a door and down a narrow walkway. Even down here, Aperture had used glass elevators and a transportation system few modern buildings could brag with. While they walked past, the elevator loosened from its rail and tumbled down into the blackness, glass shattering as it hit wires and shrapnel piled up everywhere.

"Doesn't look too good around here," Wheatley commented. "Bit, uh, decrepit and so on, you really live here?" Chell wished he would shut up, but of course, Wheatley never shut up, especially when he was nervous. "How's that even possible, what do you eat? Uh... nevermind, I don't wanna know, let's talk about something else."

"Shut up, some people try to sleep."

"Huh, oh, sorry, I didn't- Ahh!" Wheatley broke off with a stifled scream. The mantis man pulled his arm a little bit further upwards until he had fallen quiet entirely, save for an almost inaudible whimper of pain.

"Jonesy, come on," the man leading Chell said, mild rebuke in his tone. "They're just kids."

The fourth man grunted, but released the tension on his prisoner's limbs a bit. Chell had long since lost her sense of direction, but that didn't surprise her. It would be stupid of them to show intruders the direct path to their home.

"Wait a minute." They stopped. It was the man with the bug voice. Number one turned around, without taking his hand off Chell's shoulder. Chell couldn't imagine what they were looking at. A moment later, the man turned to her.

"You won't make any trouble, right?"

"If she does the boy is mincemeat," Jonesy hissed. Wheatley didn't say anything. His blue eyes were entirely blank with panic. He wouldn't be of any help. Chell pressed her lips together and shook her head. The man nodded.

"Good. Kev, go ahead and tell the others Richie is hurt."

Chell wouldn't mind if their Richard was here. He was a bit annoying with his constant bragging, but she didn't doubt he could fight for real.

But, as things were, there was only herself and Wheatley. They had to get by on their own.

The man let go of her and went over to his injured comrade. He flung one of the man's arms over his shoulders so the bug-voiced man – Kevin? - could let go. Richie sagged against him. The compound eyes made it impossible to tell if he was unconscious or not. If he was awake, it was just enough to keep him going.

Kevin nodded and leaped in the air. His membrane wings blurred as they catapulted him upwards and out of sight. "Move it," Jonesy commanded.

Mantis man number one nodded and began to carry his comrade along. Chell followed Jonesy and Wheatley, trying to memorize their surroundings. They passed rubble, stacks of old-fashioned storage cubes, and many hatches that lead to places she didn't want to see. They emerged through a doorway and onto a metal footbridge running along the walls. It could hardly be called a room anymore. Chell couldn't see the other side. Judging from the smoothed-down rocks next to her, they had reached the salt mines. Giant steel spheres filled the cavern, held in place by wires and beams each thicker than her body. Wind howled between the metal constructs.

"The old testing spheres," the man behind her said. "The easiest way to keep the experiments separated. But you already know that, of course."

He didn't receive a response. They followed the catwalk to a crossroad. In the direction of the spheres, the metal had bent down and eventually broken, leaving a gap of at least thirty feet. Jonesy released Wheatley's arm to grab a device that reminded Chell of the very first telephones, something they only saw in old movies or science history class.

Chell couldn't understand what he said, but a few seconds later, a hatch opened on top of the sphere and other mantis men flew out. They had to fight against the winds ripping at their transparent wings, but eventually managed to land on the walkway.

They didn't look much different from their friends. All middle-aged, all in various stages between man and insect. Two of them grabbed the wounded Richie and carried him off without a word. The others – two men who could only be twins, although their mutations were different – landed at the end of the walkway and waited.

"Take the boy," Jonesy ordered. Chell stepped in the way before he could push Wheatley in their direction. She stared into the black, but otherwise human eyes, and managed to get a hold of Wheatley's hand. It was as cold as hers, and trembling none the less.

"You don't understand, darling. You don't have a say in this," the tall man hissed. The twins made a step forward as if to force them to cooperate, but the short man, number one, stepped in their way, his hands raised.

"Please, everyone calm down a bit." He looked at everyone individually for a second. "We're not going to separate you. It's just that we can't carry both of you together. We don't want anyone else to get hurt. Alright?"

Chell stared at him. It made sense. But even if not, there was nothing she could do. So, she gave a nod. The still nameless man smiled, open relief on his face.

"Alright, then we're ready to go."

One of the twins grabbed Wheatley, and with the help of Jonesy, they carried him away. Chell shuddered at the mere thought of being touched. When they did, it was not as bad as expected. It didn't make the flight any more comfortable. The wind was like a punch to the face. The mantis men's wings beat with a visible effort to keep them on track. Chell tried to distinguish anything in the darkness below, and couldn't.

"Just more testing spheres," number one shouted over the howling winds. "And a damn long fall. We're gonna drop you through the hatch. Those are Aperture's Long Fall Boots, right?" Chell barely had time to nod before they let go of her and the howling winds were replaced by the rush of a fall.

She landed on her feet after barely five seconds, the boots dampening the impact. She straightened up just as the two mantis men landed beside her. The hatch closed with an echoing bang.

Wheatley gave her a tiny smile as he walked over to her. She knew that expression: He was trying to be an adult for once. She grasped his hand once he was in reaching distance and squeezed it. He squeezed back.

Then they faced the dozens of what had been humans once, mumbling and buzzing while they stared at them like visitors at a zoo.

The man called Jonesy gave them a hard shove from behind and the crowd opened up to a narrow path. Chell tried to ignore the whispers and concentrated on scanning their surroundings.

The inside of the testing sphere was little more than a standard testing track. It reminded Chell of the test chambers designed for the gel tests. The materials were easy to clean, without the signature white tiles of a portal test chamber, and the room had a different rhythm and pacing. Chell could even see an almost vertical, curved wall, like a skateboard slope. Just more dangerous. And deadly, depending what was on the floor beneath. The test chamber had been remodeled as best as possible, using junk and broken down materials to construct what might be called a home.

They were led down several platforms, the mantis men following them. They were quiet now, save for the eerie rustling of wings and chitin armor.

Eventually, they reached a large central platform. A cube dispenser loomed overhead, empty and probably long broken off the main system. There was a tiny ledge under it, like a podium.

"Sit down," Jonesy ordered. They sat. The mantis men gathered around them. Not just men, Chell realized. She could see what might either be feminine men or androgynous women. Back in the day women weren't allowed to do the dangerous things, but that didn't have to stop anyone.

"Why now?", Jonesy barked. "After all this time."

Wheatley gave Chell a quizzical glance. She shrugged her shoulders. They seemed to think Director Johnson sent them, for whatever reason. The tall man whipped his spiked arm forward, and the claws settled on Chell's throat.

"Now, now, no rash decision, please." The short man pushed the claws away and took a stand between the mass and them. "Let's hear them out first."

"We don't need to hear any lies," somebody from the crowd spat. "They hurt Richie! Isn't that enough?"

"I know Brian, but we must not forget that we look threatening at first glance as well." He turned around. "My name is Ray. I'm the current leader of this little colony."

"Not much longer," the voice from the crowd hissed. Ray sighed quietly, but didn't turn around.

"What are your names?"

"Your full names," Jonesy added in a growl.

Chell almost jumped when Wheatley squeezed her hand. There it was, his darker, and admittedly more capable side. His voice was calm and steady, bright eyes scanning the crowd, calculating, scheming. Chell leaned on his shoulder. At least she didn't have to think for both of them now.

"My name is Ethan Wheatley, and the lady at my side is Michelle Catania. We're students of Aperture."

Ray's eyebrows shot up and people in the the crowd began to murmur frantically to each other.

"Students?"

Wheatley nodded. "Aperture had some... legal trouble, I presume. It was converted to an international private school in the eighties."

"So you're not here to report back to Johnson if we're still down here?"

"We didn't know you even existed. There were rumors, but it more like ghost stories among the kids." Chell frowned and nudged him. He read her question, or had thought of it himself already. "These... experiments took place in the fifties, right? Mr Johnson was the head of Aperture even back then? I didn't think he was that old."

Ray's antennae wiggled thoughtfully. "We're talking about the same Robert Johnson?"

Chell shook her head. "The director's name is Cave Johnson," Wheatley translated.

"Oh, that little brat," somebody from the crowd said. Chuckles rose from the mantis people and then died again, like a tiny bright wave in a dark ocean.

Ray nodded. "The last experiment was in 1972, when we were deemed... useless. Cave was just as arrogant as his father, even at age five."

"Why did Aaron never tell us?" Chell had to look twice to be sure, but the mantis stepping forward was definitely a woman. She had a few more legs than should be and her skin had a strange green color, but looked otherwise human.

Ray shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know Monica. But if these two are students, we will find out soon."

"Or they are lying and Johnson junior sent them to make sure he can eradicate us. Did you search them for bugs?" The man was too thin, even by the standards of the generally ill-looking mantis people and his hair was a stark white, even though he was younger than the rest of them. "They look tasty."

Chell froze, her gaze locked on the hostile mantis man. She felt Wheatley's hand tighten around hers and squeezed back.

"Calm down, Brian. We're the only bugs here, I'm afraid," Ray joked. The laughter was even more hesitant this time. He looked Chell directly into the eyes. It was easy to read his expression: _Don't make me look like a liar._

"Tell us, how did you get here?"

Wheatley summarized the test series they had been doing, and how they had ended up falling down the shaft until the excursion funnels caught them.

"Why do you have these, anyway? They are newer than the fifties," Wheatley inquired. Chell elbowed him. Asking questions would only make them even more suspicious. But he just smiled at her, confident and a little mocking, as if he was safe in his "lair" in the universe of the canceled musical. Now she wanted her old, silly Wheatley back after all. Damn it all to android hell.

Ray waved the question off. "Aaron helped us build them. It's part of an alarm system to spot any... intruders from the surface."

"How old are you?", the woman Ray had called Monica asked.

"Sixteen," Wheatley replied dutifully. She nodded, a frown furrowing her green-tinted skin, and turned away. "Kids," Monica mumbled, disbelief in her voice. "He uses kids for the tests."

Chell thought it better not to comment on that. There hadn't been major accidents in months, and whether that had been an accident was debatable. An entirely different question was more important. One could claim many things about Wheatley, but in moments like these he had the eerie gift to know exactly what she wanted to say.

"You have been here all this time?"

"Oh well, what are twenty years in the clockwork of the universe?" Ray tried to smile, but he couldn't fake confidence very well. "It's better than being hunted down to be studied or exterminated."

Chell and Wheatley exchanged a glance.

"It's 2016."

Silence fell. Compound and human eyes in a variety of stages of mutation locked onto them.

"Forty-seven years?", Jonesy asked. The hostility had vanished in the shock.

Brian let out a hiss that sounded like many tiny legs on stone. "Aaron has been lying to us all along! I told you not to trust him."

"Who _is_ Aaron, anyway?" Wheatley's question was drowned in the murmuring. The mantis people began to hiss at each other, some even shoved their comrades. It took the crowd less than twenty seconds to break into a full-blown brawl.

"We can't let them go," Brian shouted over the turmoil. "They'll just sell us out. We can't trust anyone from up there."

"Calm down, everyone!", Ray countered equally loud. "Please, let's not rush to conclusions." The argument became more heated by the second. Not much longer and the crowd would split up into two opposing parties. That already happened at every meeting of the student's committee and got even worse when all students were involved.

Wheatley looked at Chell. She shrugged her shoulders. She had a vague idea where they had come from. The testing spheres had to be connected and there was plenty of space to hide. They wouldn't get a better chance.

The platform only led down to a pool of goo they didn't want to inspect any further. With a little head start, they both sailed over the small gap and landed safely on the other side, keeping in the shadow of the free-standing walls. Chell could see the exit ahead, but without the repulsion gel it would be next to impossible to get up there quickly. They could climb, but the chance to be seen was too high. There had to be another exit, or rather entrance, other than the hatch they had entered through. There had to be another way.

Chell grasped for Wheatley's hand to lead him along. Her fingers only closed on empty air. Wheatley had been beside her the whole time, right? He wasn't anymore. Chell looked around, suppressing a twinge of panic. Her eyes hadn't adjusted to the darkness under the construction and all she saw was green-tinted shadow.

"Over here, luv." Chell jumped and spun, searching for the direction his voice was coming from. He appeared from the shadows like a ghost and pulled her under the relative protection of a broken-down wall panel. "The other entrance is past the platform we came from. I'm afraid that's no option." He ran one hand through his hair, half thinking, half brushing it to the side in what might be considered a more "classy" hairdo. It didn't help much, judging from the flicker of fear in his expression. "O-okay. I have no idea what we should do, but we gotta do _something_ I guess, otherwise they'll eat us probably. Um, let's go over our options once more..."

Chell put one finger against his lips. It had gone quiet, not just under their sad excuse of shelter, but in the whole sphere. The turmoil had stopped, the voices, the stomping and rustling.

"Please don't make this any more difficult," Ray's voice echoed through the test chamber. "We're not going to hurt you. Just don't put up a fight."

"Oh, _do_ put up a fight." It was hard to tell after such a short time, but Chell could bet that was Brian. "Because if my people find you, you'll die anyway. At least make it interesting."

Wheatley swallowed and had to force himself to take a deep breath. Chell gave him a tense smile. _Think._ Where to? They couldn't stay here much longer.

"If only we had some repulsion gel. This was a testing track for that, right?", Wheatley mumbled. He was right. The gel gun couldn't have existed when this was built, but still...

"Wheatley, you're a genius." She kissed him on the cheek and then pulled him along, further down under what had been a separating wall. A wall designed to be jumped over. A wall behind which lay a tube system designed to bring the repulsion gel wherever in the test it was needed.

"Where are we going?"

Chell didn't answer. She just ran on, as quietly as possible in the clicking boots. The tubes were easy to spot, and yes, there was more than enough gel left. She gestured for Wheatley to help her out. He grabbed her and lifted her up to the tube hovering around eight foot over the floor. At least he read that correctly. More or less. The grip wasn't painful, just... a little misplaced.

"Legs!", she hissed.

"Huh? Oh, OH, _legs_ , yes, sorry." Chell rolled her eyes. He was lucky girls possessed a built-in radar that told them whether a guy was being creepy or just clumsy.

The tube was closed off with a hatch a few inches away from the end piece. It was so rusted the original structures were hard to make out. There was a manual lever to open it, but it had fused with the rest of the metal over time, and she couldn't move it an inch.

"Um, luv, are you done soon? You're getting quite heavy. Uh, I mean, not that you _are_ heavy in general, it's just..." Chell closed her hands around the lever and tried to pull it down one last time. Maybe with her whole weight...

"Luv... oh no." She had one second to register the shift, or rather sudden lack of balance in Wheatley's stance, then she wasn't held by anything but the lever. There was an audible crack and the metal bit into her hands.

Chell landed on her feet, but not as securely as usual. She had to slide one foot forward to hold her balance and hit something not hard, but also not soft. It gave a sound of pain and recoiled.

Chell straightened up and dropped the piece of lever she had taken down with her. The rusted metal had cut into her palm, but it didn't look too bad. A visit to the infirmary would be a good idea though.

They would get out of here. Of course they would.

Wheatley got to his feet, two shades paler than usual. "I'm okay, thanks for asking. What about you, luv? Yes? Lovely." He turned his back on her and inspected the gel dripping out of the pipe. It was full of little lumps from being stationary for so long, but the stream was gradually picking up speed again, leaving big splashes over the floor right up to the wall.

"So... we have to jump over there, over that huge awful gap and up on the platform. All in a few minutes before the mantis... mantises... those people notice us."

Chell nodded, even though he didn't look at her. She shoved him in the direction of the far wall. No time to deal with hurt feelings or other hurt parts. There had to be a ladder somewhere, or otherwise this test wouldn't make sense. She was proven correct. They ascended the ladder as fast as possible, and surprisingly without any further incidents.

There should be no wind in the sphere, but the room was large enough to create a cool breeze anyway. It was a terrible place to live, but probably the only available down here. Chell looked over their escape route and tried to ignore the doubt gnawing at her. She could do it, easily. Gladys had sent her through worse tests. But Wheatley? One wrong twist, the lack of balance, and you could hurt yourself badly, or simply fall down into the acidic pool filling the bottom.

"Ladies first. If I fall, you can make it out alone."

Chell stared at him. That was the most considerate thing she had heard from Wheatley in a month. He tried, really did, but it didn't always work out. Most of the time, actually.

She took his hands and squeezed as hard as she could, despite her burning palms. She couldn't see any of the mantis people, but she didn't let that calm her. They might as well stand on a silver plate.

"They say kids, drunks and stupid people usually don't hurt themselves." He kissed her, briefly. "For good luck. Not that you'd need it." Chell nodded and let go.

She went all the way back to the wall. The propulsion gel would have made things easier, but if it wasn't here, there had to be a reason.

If she had solved the test correctly. A yard too far, she'd hit the wall, a yard too short, she wouldn't reach the exit platform. The jump had to be perfect.

Chell stopped thinking and put all her strength into the sprint before her feet hit empty air and the wind swept up her hair. The impact splashed gel over her boots, but catapulted her over the wall nonetheless. It carried her much higher than the starting point. For a moment, it felt like hovering in mid-air, before gravity set in and pulled her down in a sharp return. The platform came closer, and closer. There was greenish goo shining far below her feet.

She hit the platform with so much force even the boots didn't prevent a shock wave running through her. Chell staggered against the wall. Her boots had left blue prints, just inches from the edge. Imperfect as the gel was even today, it had certainly improved since the closure of old Aperture.

So far, so good.

She took a few deep breaths to calm down and get her adrenaline to a useful level.

Then Wheatley crash-landed next to her, his additional weight carrying him much further than intended. The boots took out most of the impact, but he fell to his knees anyway, giving a yelp of pain. His head came of an abrupt stop on her thigh.

"Nice jump." Chell grabbed his shoulder and dragged him out of the door. It had been jammed and then just left to rust. Even the powerful motors Aperture put everywhere wouldn't close it now, if they were still functional at all. It wouldn't stop any pursuers.

Their only second-long sprint ended in a sliding stop. There was a room behind the door, but it didn't have any doors, just a tube descending from the ceiling. Back in the day, Aperture had used a vacuum delivery system. They still did, for cubes and other objects, but regulations prevented human transport, even though it was one of the safest inventions Aperture had ever made. Or so Gladys claimed.

"Um, I don't want to sound negative, but we can't get through here, right? The system has been offline for years, and even if, they'd know where we're going. Okay, new plan, um... an ambush?" He looked around. The room was empty. "Okay, maybe not, um..."

Chell shoved him to the far right wall. The panels were not all mechanical down here, and some had fallen off, revealing a simple grid replacing a solid wall. The tube system ran all over the closed off parts of the sphere. Chell heaved herself up through the opening and straightened up once she stood securely on the tube. Wheatley followed, a bit shaky, but successful.

"Oh Michelle, dearest Michelle, where art thou?", Brian mocked them. "In here, crawling up this useless tube like a little bug?" The tube wound its way upwards in a dizzying spiral around the room they had left, and Brian's annoyed yelling was only a faint background noise. The tubes left the sphere through another set of hatches, and they were back in the cavern.

Chell had looked back what felt like every three seconds, just to make sure they wouldn't be separated again. It prevented them from running over the edge, where the vacuum tube dropped vertically into the darkness.

"We've gotta climb again, don't we?" Wheatley sounded as tired as Chell felt, but he didn't complain. The tube's fixations made a good ladder, if a rather painful one. It only took a minute until they came close enough to a catwalk to jump over. Chell rubbed her hands. They weren't bleeding just yet, but it felt itchy and unhealthy and the skin was roughed up and reddened. She didn't really want to know what kind of harmful substances had been used down here before people knew better, or began to care.

"Come on, luv." Wheatley took her hand, his cold skin bringing at least some kind of relief. They followed the catwalk until there was the first crossroad.

"You will get lost down here." They froze. Ray sounded like he might as well stand only a few yards away.

"We don't mean to harm you." His voice had a metallic edge, Chell realized. He was using speakers strewn throughout the cavern. They had figured out the prisoners had somehow escaped from the sphere. They needed a hiding place, and fast.

"Aperture is a labyrinth, even for us. I promise you won't get hurt. Brian and his... supporters won't touch you. We're no monsters."

Chell didn't even bother to listen. The catwalk was broken further ahead, so they went right, and then left, left, right, straight ahead, and left again, following a complicated and senseless pattern. She had lost any sense of direction, save for getting away from the testing sphere housing the mantis colony. Maybe they could find a functioning elevator that brought them upwards. There had to be something still working down here.

Gladys would have to tell someone. They would look for them. What would happen, to the search party, to the mantis people? This couldn't end well in any possibly scenario.

The speakers gave a deafening shriek. "Found you." Brian all but sang. Chell only caught a glimpse of a single mantis man hovering far over their heads, before he turned away. Back-up would arrive soon.

There was a door set into the cavern wall ahead. The logo was bleached out, but still readable. _Aperture Science Innovators._

Chell hadn't paid much attention when they suffered through hours of the school's history, but that name had been in use well before the seventies. They came to a halt before the door. The wheel holding it closed didn't move. Either it was locked or jammed. It didn't matter. They were stuck.

They both froze at the sound of a familiar deep voice.

"Where do you think you are going?"

* * *

Chell didn't know if she should be relieved or frightened. Either way, they turned to face what was coming to them. What was _he_ doing here, anyway?

"The exit is the other way," Aegis said wryly. He looked them over for a moment, dark eyes hidden behind gold-tinted glasses, before speaking into a small voice recorder.

"Targets found at section B-713, level fourteen. Extraction immediate." He stashed the recorder away and scrutinized them.

"You again."

"This wasn't our fault. Mostly," Wheatley defended himself. "Who could have known that-"

"Well if that isn't the great liar." Aegis didn't look hurried when he turned and caught Brian's spiked arm inches from his face. The mantis man fought against him with all his power for a few seconds, before giving up and falling back. Aperture's security manager let him. He had barely moved during the whole intermezzo.

Brian hissed, but didn't dare come closer. Behind him, many other mantis people gathered. Ray and Monica landed between them. Brian took a step back when Monica looked directly at him and his pale face set into a stubborn grimace.

"Aaron. It's good to see you again," Ray said. They shook hands. "As you can see, there are some... issues we need to clear up."

Chell looked to and fro between the two men, trying to sort out what the hell was going on. "You know each other?", Wheatley asked in her stead.

Aegis gave them a cold glare from the corner of the eye. They both winced and shifted a little closer to each other. Chell felt a shiver run down her back. Damn this stupid test, and damn this day, and their curiosity.

Ray stared at them blankly for almost a minute. "Yes," he said eventually. Nothing more.

 _How?_

Aegis didn't look at them again. "My task is the security of Aperture. In every aspect."

"Don't you want to tell them you're one of the lucky bastards that didn't devel- Argh!" Monica wrestled Brian down with ease, even though she was smaller. His protest ended in a pained whine.

"We already know _you're_ an inconsiderate, frustrated idiot who'd sell his own daughter for power," she snarled. "Now shut up, before I shut you up."

Chell and Wheatley exchanged a glance. No more questions on their part, that was for sure. The security manager couldn't like them much already because of their past mishaps. Now he had been called down here and faced trouble with the mantis people on top of that.

That didn't mean Chell's thoughts would stop spinning around the matter. Lucky bastards? Develop what? Even with all her imagination, Aegis didn't remind her of a praying mantis in the slightest.

"Does Johnson junior know?", Brian rasped. "Did Johnson _senior_ know?"

"Does it matter?", Aegis replied. Nothing in his tone betrayed an emotion. It was hardly even a question.

He reminded her of a spider. A big, dark, dangerous spider, with sharp golden eyes that didn't miss anything. That was silly. He couldn't possibly be that old.

"Let's get down to business here," Ray interjected. "Aaron, you lied to us. The newspapers, the news cast, it said 1979 the last time you visited. Was that all fabrication? What is going on out there?"

"They are all real."

Ray stared at him for several seconds. "Just out of date, huh?" He rubbed his forehead, as if he had a headache. "What about that premier lady over in Britain? What about the Commies?"

"Margaret Thatcher died three years ago. And the Cold War is over." He paused and the next words were almost a sigh. "A lot of things happened, in just a short while."

"Fifty years aren't a short while!", Ray yelled. His wings beat frantically, the humming drowning out most of the murmuring behind him. "It's- it's... it's not!" The fit didn't last long, and his worn-down boots thumped down on the catwalk again. His shoulders sagged, and he looked smaller than ever. "Why did you lie to us?"

"There's no place for you out there."

"You just said the world has changed."

Aegis was silent for a few seconds. "Not that much. You would be hunted down."

"And you would know." Brian pushed Monica away and rose to his feet. He wasn't short, not as short as Ray, but the thin limbs made him look fragile and ill. He poked a claw in their direction, but didn't come closer. "What happened to the others? Back then, before the experiments, there was another group. Lots of women, too. Does Aperture keep them locked down here as well?"

"I never hindered you from leaving," Aegis said calmly.

The murmuring cut off before he had finished the sentence. Brian stared at him. "You- you..."

"There are many ways out of this place and you know them better than I do. If you want to leave, I can not stop you."

Brian opened his mouth in protest, and closed it again. The mantis people looked at each other, anger and fear slowly being replaced by insecurity.

"You better bring these kids back where they belong," Ray said. Chell snapped out of her thoughts when the collective attention shifted back to them. Her mind had wandered off at some point, trying to put together what she had gathered from Brian's rant. She couldn't ever ask Aegis about it, but that wasn't the only way. August Applebee might be the only one that had direct access to the old files. If she had to guess, Johnson didn't even know that. He would give them to Gladys if she asked. And Gladys just so happened to owe Chell a favor.

Wheatley squeezed her hand so hard it hurt. The danger was over, he was back to his usual goofy self. Fine with her.

Aegis turned around. "Indeed." He motioned them to follow and just started going. The crowd opened like a curtain, many launching up into the air and retreating back in the direction of their home. Even Brian stepped out of the way, giving them dirty looks from pale, but human eyes.

"The other group perished in the experiment," Aegis said. "All of them."

The mantis man's mouth turned into a hard line. "I doubt that."

"That is up to you." Wheatley tugged at Chell's arm and they hastily followed. Brian, Ray and Monica stayed behind, without saying another word.

Aegis led the two teenagers through a maze of broken-down walkways, offices, and overgrown test chambers, until they had lost all sense of direction.

Chell tried to memorize the things she saw, but everything looked roughly the same, and the numbers and letters assigned to the rooms didn't seem to have any purposeful order. There were some old picture frames and bleached photographs in which she thought to recognize a man that looked like Director Johnson, but also quite different. Robert Johnson, she presumed. Some metal signs were still in place and not faded out, but most of them were... strange, to say the least. And far too many doors had bio hazard warnings taped to them.

"It would be best for everyone not to speak of this again," Aegis said.

"So your name is Aaron?", Wheatley asked, too quick to have been thinking. Judging from his face he realized what a terrible mistake he had just made.

Aegis froze mid-step. Chell and Wheatley would have run into him, had they not kept a safe distance of fifteen feet the whole time. Now they just came to an abrupt halt. Chell shoved Wheatley behind herself, useless as it was. He didn't seem taller than her anymore, and his shaking hands on her arm didn't do much to help her stay calm.

"It's just... People have been wondering. About you. Because Aegis... that's... not... is it..."

"Aperture Employee Guardian and Intrusion System. It was an automated security set-up once, but the computer performance was rather poor. Today it's just... a meaningless title." Chell couldn't tell if she had imagined the hesitation or if it had been real. Aegis half turned around to look at them and the light from overhead gave his dark eyes an eerie golden sparkle. "But as I said, it would be best for everyone if you forgot what happened down here."

"Uh, yes, you're absolutely right, Sir, already forgotten about the mantis people, and that you know them and there are some really weird things we can't understand-" Chell stomped on his foot. Hard. The long fall boots were built to dampen exactly one direction of impact, and pressure from above wasn't part of it. Wheatley yelped and preformed an involuntary little dance, jumping around on one foot.

She probably just imagined the tiny smile flickering over Aegis' face. He turned around and continued their way back to the Aperture the students knew. Wheatley limped after him with offended puppy eyes in Chell's direction. She sighed and caught up to him, slipping her arm around his. It didn't take much longer until they reached an elevator that looked far too well-maintained to belong in this junkyard. They rode upwards in tense silence.

The glass casing gave Chell a good look over rusted pipe systems and broken down structures in the vast expenses of the salt mines. Wheatley didn't care much for it, judging from how he had wrapped an arm around her waist and tried to crush her.

They emerged in a tiny room. Chell had to suppress a sneeze when the elevator doors opened. There wasn't much to see save for a pile of dusty boxes, the stairs in the pile smoothed by spiderwebs. Wheatley gave a yelp and jumped to one side, pulling Chell with him. She needed a moment to locate the source of his distress.

A huge silver spider made a slow way across the floor, headed for the pile.

"Okay, okay, no need to panic, who's gonna deal with that?", Wheatley blubbered, even while inconspicuously hiding behind his girlfriend. Chell didn't feel much like dealing with that huge beast either, but he probably wouldn't move if she didn't.

"Annabel. So you did make it through the winter." Aegis hunkered down and the huge spider crawled onto his hand. Aegis was a grown man and his hands weren't exactly small, but the spider – Annabel – filled it completely. It even rolled up comfortably as he carried it over to the boxes.

"An old lady shouldn't walk that far," he told the spider. It stretched its long legs and carefully climbed on the dust-covered webs. Annabel paused, looking up at him, and then vanished. Aegis brushed dust off his pants and walked to the door as if nothing had happened.

Chell and Wheatley looked at each other, at him, at the door, the pile, and then at each other again. Their expressions would have been comical if they hadn't been that terrified.

Aegis opened the door and cool air rushed into the room. Judging from the light, it was already dusk. How long had they been down there?

"What are you waiting for? The spiders don't react too kindly to strangers."

Wheatley was out of the hut in three panicked leaps and Chell followed. She wasn't scared of spiders, not really, but she could think of better way to spend her time. Or to die.

Around them were trees. Trees in every direction, their branches too far up to reach. No way of telling where they could find aperture, or get lost in the woods.

Aegis walked past them without a word. They followed a trail that was barely visible in the underbrush. Spring had arrived, but the grass took its time to get through the remains of last year's vegetation. Chell was aware her hand had closed around Wheatley's like one of the maintenance claws the students rarely got to see. She couldn't do anything about it, and Wheatley didn't complain. If anything, he walked as close to her as possible.

Aperture appeared from the trees like a ghost. They approached the complex from the north, a part of Aperture's grounds Chell had never been on. The street out of the perimeter led south, to the next city, and all around were just woods, fences and probably tons of traps Johnson had laid out for intruders. They wouldn't have seen the door without the red dot of light. Aegis swiped a key card through the reader and the light turned green.

Chell entered and pulled her boyfriend along without waiting. She knew this building. The infirmary was just down the hallway.

"None of you are hurt, correct?"

Chell nodded. her hands were burning, but it was better not to cause any hold-up. "Y-yes," Wheatley confirmed.

Aegis gave them a brief nod and stalked down the hall to the main building. They followed. People did double takes as they walked by, and Alyssa dropped her note pad. She picked it up again immediately and was frantically rummaging her bag for a pen until they left her sight. So they would have to deal with that later on.

Wheatley tried to smile. It didn't look convincing. They didn't have to wait in front of the director's office. The door was open, and Johnson jumped to his feet when he saw them. Caroline gave them a warm, relieved smile.

Chell and Wheatley sat down on the visitor's chairs. The door clicked shut and they could feel the security manager's looming presence right behind them. Johnson sat down again, and folded his hands in an attempt to look calm.

"You found them. Good. What happened?"

"They fell down into sublevel fourteen, section B-713 and got stuck. I had to unlock the doors manually," Aegis reported.

"Ah, good." Johnson nodded, and didn't manage to pretend he had any idea what part of Aperture they were talking about. He pretended to be busy by shuffling some files. He had to be reading at least some of them, because his hands froze, and a frown appeared on his face.

"Did you find... anything interesting? Ethan, Michelle?"

"No, Sir. Only... there were a lot of bio hazard signs on locked doors. Not that we tried any of them," Wheatley answered. So he had noticed too.

"Ah, yeah, that stuff. The old company did some... interesting experiments down in the salt mines. Lots of dangerous stuff down there. It's safer than trying to get it anywhere else."

Chell had her doubts about that. She also had her doubts about what Wheatley intended on, but she could squeeze his hand as much as she wanted, he ignored her.

"I see, Sir. Um... what kind of experiments?"

"What, did you run into a mantis man?" Johnson let out a bellowing laugh. Caroline joined in, but it was short-lived and hollow with lack of understanding.

"That's what you kids tell each other, right? Well, it's true there were some bio-engineering experiments up until the seventies. My father was obsessed with bugs, you know? Mantises, flies, like in the movie, lots of spiders. Big spiders. I bet there's a whole colony down there." The director shook his head. "None of it ever yielded any results. At least we could prove what really is science-fiction."

"Oh. Alright."

Johnson waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Now then, you kids get yourselves cleaned up and checked. And don't pull any levers you're not supposed to, alright?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you."

They left the office without looking back. Before the door shut, they could hear the director again, in a lower voice this time: "I still don't get why my father wanted that section untouched. We need the test chambers."

They rushed down the hallway faster than necessary. "He's gonna watch us from now on, isn't he? I can never look at a spider again without seeing a spy," Wheatley complained. Chell didn't say anything. They had gotten away. For now.

For once, the sterile whites and grays of Aperture didn't look unfriendly. It was a bleak home, but it was still home. She needed a shower or three and go to Brooke to get her hands checked. But before that, there was something else to do.

* * *

The park was empty at this hour. The other students had gathered for dinner while they had been at the director's office. Even amplified, the natural light from outside only gave the vast halls a pink and orange tint without actually illuminating much. The swings stood on the far side, near the east entrance and the gym.

After days of speculating and ever weirder rumors about the origin of the equipment, people had just moved on to their daily routine. It was uncommon, even for Aperture, but the general attention span of a crowd was short. Unrelated to that matter, the swings were more popular than anyone would admit, even among the older students.

There were three big frames lined up, four normal swings and a big one vaguely resembling a bird's nest. It was ironic that something so strongly related to Gladys's most despised animal was her resting place now.

Chell still had trouble recognizing Gladys since she had changed her hair. All the time Chell had been at this school, the Queen of Aperture had kept it in a short, practical cut. Now the silver strands fell down on her waist. Right now, it was in a high ponytail, two thin braids holding back the front strands. The Queen lay in the nest-like swing, legs crossed, and a tablet in her lap. She didn't look up, even when Chell stopped out of the swing's radius. How did she manage to stay that clean, anyway? One would think white shorts and sneakers wouldn't survive a minute, walking over grass or lying on the undoubtedly dirty plastic of the nest.

"I thought you would turn up," Gladys said eventually.

Chell didn't reply. She had sent Wheatley to take a shower, and he had gladly obliged. As far as his... "normal" self was concerned, he would not ask any more questions. That didn't mean he couldn't change his mind again. That happened every second day, for a variety of topics.

Gladys shut off the tablet and looked up to meet Chell's steel-gray eyes. The Queen smiled.

"I think I know exactly where we can start."


	14. Perks of being a wallflower

I'm really sorry for not updating for such a long time. I never planned a real storyline, but I'll try to go on as the ideas come in. A friend of mine will be roleplaying with me from now on, so there should be plenty of new material to work on.

Also, the blog has a new url now! You can find it under aperture-science-academy on tumblr.

Enjoy!

* * *

"And did you see that shirt? I mean, that was _so_ hot, seriously. Well, technically he always is, but..." The sentence ended in a undefined noise of delight.

"What are you, gay?"

Virgil broke off before even starting the next sentence and the other party of the conversation used the pause to make a not exactly smooth exit. Virgil made a point of not turning around immediately, and as if his legs didn't slightly tremble at every move. He was better, but better wasn't well yet. Nevertheless, the Swede put on one of his rare two thousand volt smiles that could only be fake.  
"So, what of it?", he asked cheerfully.

Rick pushed up the brim of his hat a little and blinked at him. "Uh, what?"

"If I was gay, would that be a problem?"

Adventure had to fight the urge to walk away from the situation he had gotten himself into. His mouth had bypassed his brain, and that never went well. One only had to look at Wheatley. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Course not. But... I thought you were with Mel?"

Virgil smiled sweetly and stepped a little closer. Rick didn't flinch, even though he would have wanted to.

"Oh dear, the American education system. You see, there's more out there than gay or straight." He gave his voice an extra-patient tone, as if talking to a child. "I'm with Mel, and I like girls. Sort of. But I also like guys. It's called bisexuality."

"Stop lecturing me," Rick snapped. "I know all about that." He broke off at the last syllable, when he realized the dozen of ways one could interpret that. And that damned Swede wouldn't let him get away this time.

"Oh, really? That's nice. You were never shutting up about girls, I never assumed."

Rick looked around. Lunch break was always crowded here, where everybody went to check if any classes in the afternoon had been canceled. People had begun staring at them. Why the hell did that ginger stand so close, dammit?

"What the hell are you talking about?!", Rick hissed. "I'm not-"

"Really, that's cute of you, and an honor, but you should know better." Virgil grabbed one of the strings of Rick's hoodie and twirled it around his finger with an... an almost lascivious smile. "I'm already taken."

"Stop doing that!" Rick slapped the hand away. Damn that guy, and damn this day, and damn this whole school, and his thoughtless blubbering. "I'm not trying to ask you out or anything. I wouldn't do that, and even if, it wouldn't be here. Wait, no, I didn't mean that like-"

"Sorry, darling, but you're not my type." Virgil gave him a smug smile and brushed the deliberately wild stubble on Rick's jaw with his fingertips. Then he walked away as if nothing had happened.

Rick stared after him open-mouthed. His face slowly turned pink and then bright red. "I'm not-", he stammered. But Virgil had already turned a corner and vanished.

"Don't worry, it's the twenty-first century. Nobody will judge you," Henry commented. He had taken off his headphones and grinned at Rick from under a curtain of long blond hair. The comment was followed by giggles from all around.

Rick spun, but restrained himself just in time. "Oh, shut up!", he barked and stormed away. He ignored the grins and giggles and the first people passing on the tale. He didn't even notice where he was going or who he was passing. His feet would bring him to the right place. They usually did when he was mad. Some training would probably be best. If anyone dared approach him now-

Rick came to an abrupt halt three steps past the poster that had somehow bypassed his rage and sparked something in his brain. He turned and went back to look closer.

It wasn't really a poster, just a printed page and an empty name list pinned to the wall. He wasn't even sure what had made him notice it. It was simple black lettering on a white page, nothing obvious or curious about it.

"A test about fear, huh?", he muttered, scanning the information. Deadline for application was this evening. The list was empty.

Three columns. Full name, age, known fears. "Well, if that isn't just spot on?" Gladys would have a bad time finding something that scared him. Just what he needed right now. He dug out a pen from his bag and put his name on the list, writing extra neatly.

 _Richard Matthias Core, 16, not scared of anything_

"And then I walked away. You should have seen his face." His voice took on a more serious note even as the others erupted into laughter. "He wasn't flirting with me of course. I just wanted to mess with him a little bit."

Helen suppressed a shrug and walked up to them. Almost a dozen students of many ages, most of her siblings, Wheatley and Chell, and a bunch of others, had sat down on a few blankets spread out over the lawn of the underground park. And of course in the middle of it all sat Virgil, who was just about done telling the story, something he had more often than he could and wanted to count by now. He leaned against Mel, who stroked his neck the whole time. All the running around must have been agonizing, even so long after the incident.

The group interrupted their chatter when they noticed Helen. She didn't react to the smiles and greetings. "Has anyone seen Richard?"

"Not since yesterday." A smirk flickered across Virgil's freckled face, but vanished again under Helen's glare.

"He was in the gym yesterday," David said eventually. "Looked pretty mad, too."

"He wasn't at breakfast. That is unhealthy," Stephen added.

"Well, I wasn't looking for anyone, but I think, maybe, he could have been at classes. Maybe not, though, I don't know for sure, I was concentrating-" Chell shut her boyfriend up by resting a hand on his neck. It was a simple gesture, but surprisingly intimate, and worked like a charm. So they had found a replacement for the occasional elbow jab.

"Thanks." Helen turned and started for the next door. She had already checked his room, and he hadn't been there, so that left only a few possibilities.

Virgil called after her. "Come on, Rick's not an idiot. He can take a joke. ...Right?"

Helen didn't answer or stopped to look back. _You don't know my brother._

* * *

The lake was clouded in mist once more, as the cold air clashed with slightly warmer water. Not warm enough to swim in it, though. Many of the new students found out about that the hard way.

A lot of people came here when they wanted to be alone, and it was an inexplicable mystery why that worked without clashes between the students. The lake was a quiet place, the most remote of the whole facility, unless you had access to the abandoned salt mines beyond. They stemmed from the time Aperture hadn't been a school, but not even Gladys knew much more about it except that they were deep, and decrepit, and potentially deadly. Chell and Wheatley had been down there, by accident, but by some strange circumstances, they never talked about it.

As Helen made her way through the mist, a vague form began to emerge from the white veil. There was only a handful of actual trees in the hall, the others were just paintings, but even with that knowledge you needed to come as close as a few yards to make out if it was a real tree or not.

Rick didn't look up, even though he had definitely heard her steps. He leaned against the wall, a blanket draped over his shoulders. Sometimes the air was just cool like a spring evening, and sometimes it was icy. If there was anything Rick hated, it was being cold, even though he would never admit it.

Helen sat down next to him and pulled one side of the blanket over her shoulders before leaning back. For a while, she didn't say anything. Rick continued reading and Helen just followed along. She had read Ender's Game a few years ago, but by now she had little time for books. It was a pity, really.

She waited until he had reached the end of the chapter before speaking. "What would you do if anyone but me came looking for you?"

"Nobody else would," Rick countered.

Helen sighed and leaned against his shoulder. Under the blanket, it was warm, and despite her brother's obsession with bodily strength and muscles the position was quite comfy. Had she come here because she worried about him, or rather to get a break for herself?

"Fair enough."

Rick closed the book and laid an arm around his sister. "You wouldn't come all that way for no reason."

"Isn't it reason enough to have you vanishing for two days without a word?"

Rick let out a shrug that sounded more like a growl. "You knew exactly I was here. And I'd rather avoid losing my temper on that ginger little rat."

"It wasn't his fault you got yourself into that."

"Well... yeah, I guess." The words were almost unintelligible in his grumbling. "Whatever. Just because I could beat every one of them... And I don't hit people that can't defend themselves."

"Hey, if you want to spar a little, the gym is empty I bet."

Rick grimaced, remembering the last time he had gone up against his older sister. It had been painful, for one thing, and more important, humiliating. "Some other time maybe."

Helen smiled to herself. "Too bad. But I appreciate your will not to start a fight."

"Wouldn't change anything. They'll keep laughing at me either way."

Helen fought the urge to roll her eyes. Boys could be so stupid sometimes. "We both know that's not the real problem. But what is? Tell me, because I don't understand."

It was silent for a few minutes. She wanted to stay where she was, but that wouldn't bring them anywhere. So, Helen sat up and forced her brother to look at her. He glared back, but couldn't hold his stubborn silence for long under her gaze. He knew exactly Helen wouldn't let him get away with it. "Everybody thinks I was flirting with Virgil. That's the problem. If you didn't notice yet, _I'm not gay_. But now everybody thinks that."

Helen rubbed her forehead, barely avoiding just burying her face in her hands in frustration. Despite it all, her voice was even and friendly. "I don't know who you are referring to by "they", but I can promise you that's not the case. Virgil makes it very clear it was a prank."

"Good for him. And just because he says that everybody believes it, sure."

"Oh for God's sake, Richard, this isn't Texas in the fifties!" Rick visibly flinched and blinked at her. Even when she was angry, Helen rarely had any outbursts like this. The last weeks hadn't even been that bad in particular, had they?

Helen shrugged off the blanket. It didn't do anything to relieve her frustration. "I can't believe you grew up to be that... that homophobic."

Rick blinked at her. His anger had dissipated into thin air, except for a vague annoyance. "Jeez, Helen, don't be ridiculous. I don't care if someone is gay. As long as they don't think I am."

"Yes, because you have to be so manly." Helen's voice dripped with sarcasm, a rare occurrence by itself. They had separated during the few moments of argument, facing each other with unrelenting stares, dark violet versus green. Just because Helen could kick his butt in the gym didn't mean he'd give up.

"And?", Rick asked, an open challenge in the single word.

"Some things are outdated for a reason," Helen snapped. "If you wouldn't be such a chauvinist, maybe you'd even get that girlfriend you want so badly."

Silence fell as Helen realized what she had said. She only had a second to register the hurt look in her brother's eyes before his expression shifted and became remote.

"Listen, Richard, I didn't mean that-"

"No, it's fine." Rick got up and grabbed the blanket, folding it more or less neatly. "I get it." He stalked away, head held high and not looking back.

As a child, everything had been easier. They had been best friends, a team, the "boss kids" of the family. And now? This wasn't the first time her temper had gone through with her. It happened increasingly often since Spring Break. Maybe Benjamin was right and she needed a time-out. Spending time with her brother and talking everything through with him had been what prevented a nervous breakdown more than once. Seemed like she could cross that from her schedule now.

Helen gathered herself and slowly walked back to her room. Gladys wanted to talk to her about that fear test she was planning. The first drafts still made Helen shiver, but if Gladys had taken to heart what Helen had proposed, it should be alright.

Lost in thoughts, she almost tripped over the tricolored ball of fur named Spyro when she turned a corner.

"Oh," she mumbled. "Hey." The dog looked up at her and wagged his tail in greeting, head tilted in attention. Animals were supposed to feel when something was wrong, right? Helen stopped to scratch his ears for a moment. He grinned at her and rubbed his head against her leg in the most primal gesture of comfort. Keeping this dog might have been the best idea in months.

"Hi." Helen jumped at the voice. Nigel blinked at her in open confusion. "Are... you alright?" If even he noticed, how bad did she actually look? He certainly looked a lot better. Even his legs seemed to be healed off pretty well by now. The scars on his skin were another uncomfortable reminder where Helen had failed to prevent harm to the students she had chosen to protect.

She didn't answer the question. "If you see Richard, tell him..." _I'm sorry._ "Tell him to talk to Brooke Mendoza. He probably doesn't know who she is, but she should be in the infirmary this afternoon. I need her to take my place at the test series tomorrow."

"Oh, the one Gladys was so mysterious about and nobody signed up for?"

Was she getting a headache or had she just not noticed it before? A tea would be great now. "Huh?"

Nigel shrugged his shoulders. "The post only said something about researching how fear works, but I think Rick is the only one who was brave enough to sign up. I would have, but, then again, last time wasn't so great. Brooke wouldn't let me anyway."

 _Rick was the only one who signed up._

"Just... tell him what I said, okay?"

"Sure. Maybe you should lie down or something, though. You don't look so good. C'mon Spyro."

Helen looked after him as he and his dog jogged down the corridor. There was nothing interesting to see. She barely made it to her room and collapsed on the bed. As much as her conscience screamed at her, there were limits to everyone.

 _Isn't that helper complex driving you crazy step by step?_ She couldn't even remember who had asked her this. Many things could change in a few months. And the answer to this particular question had changed from No to a clear Yes.

* * *

The infirmary was quite a bit off the usual paths the students took. Walking fast, it took about ten minutes from the auditorium. There were good reasons for it. It had prevented everyone in the main building hearing that arrogant ginger shriek in pain for hours last year.

Rick raised his hand to knock, but the door was already ajar. Not a sound emerged from the room behind it. There hadn't been any big accidents the last months, only the usual small incidents that could be treated in the smaller emergency room right off the main hall.

Rick knocked, just for the sake of not startling anyone, and entered. He didn't get why Helen didn't send Nigel here instead of making the kid tell him to go, but she would have her reasons. The thought of his sister came with an unexpected sting.

So he didn't have a girlfriend. He just hadn't found the right one yet. None of the girls he knew matched his type, or they were already taken. No big deal.

"Hello?", he called. It had been ages since he last came here. Even knowing the rest of Aperture, this place looked sterile and cold. Whatever atmosphere a room could have, the infirmary lacked any of it. It was just empty, and white, and creepy. If you spent too much time in here, you would probably mutate into some crazed doctor.

Rick wasn't scared of course.

"Oh, hello." Rick jumped and spun, looking for the source of the voice.

"Hi," he got out eventually. That was the lamest greeting he could have come up with, and that after all the careful planning. He looked the girl over. She was Hispanic, of average height, and just a little over average weight. The black hair was in a ponytail, with a fringe dyed ocean blue falling into her eyes. Rick vaguely remembered seeing her hang out with Helen sometimes, or passing her in the hall. The hair was quite obvious, after all. But he couldn't remember ever talking to her.

"You're Brooke Mendoza, right?" She nodded, looking him over as well.

"You're Richard. Helen's brother."

Not his type, obviously. But... Not that of anyone, really. This would be child's play.

"Did something happen?", she asked, looking around as if she expected an emergency.

"Not really." Rick gave her an easy-going smile and leaned against the wall. It forced Brooke to follow him a few steps. She did so, if a little hesitant. "Helen sent me. She asks if you can take her place at the tests tomorrow."

"Oh, okay. Sure." There was a pause in which only Brooke's shuffling feet could be heard. "Something else?"

Rick shrugged his shoulders. "That's up to you."

Brooke raised her eyebrows at him. She had a pretty face, that was for sure. Twenty pounds less and she could actually be a good catch. "A-Alright, then?"

"I've noticed you around, you know."

Her cheeks turned pink, even under the natural tan. "Yes?"

"I always notice a pretty lady." If Helen ever knew about this, she would probably kill him. Then again, if nothing came out of a harmless little chat, who cared? Girls like her and guys like him just weren't meant to be. Everybody knew that. It was everywhere, and the exceptions were stared at like a freak show.

"I... noticed you too. Not just because of Helen."

Rick gave her another charming smile. _Sure you did._

A chauvinist? That had to be a bad joke. He knew exactly how to flirt and treat a lady. He had helped Wheatley with getting the girl of his dreams, after all.

...In retrospect, that might have been a bad decision.

And Virgil had just managed to play the sympathy card. But despite any jealousy, Rick couldn't be angry at him. Not after hearing the Swede scream in pain so many times, and seeing his terror when he got dragged away by his old man. Rivalry only went so far. Mel looked genuinely happy, after all. He had no right to question that.

"What's a sweet lady like you doing here all alone?"

Brooke looked around and seemed even more like a child lost in the woods. Her blush deepened until it looked almost violet.

"I-I was just cleaning up."

"So you wouldn't be free this evening?" Rick stepped away from the wall and took her hand. Brooke looked down on it and the fringe covered most of her face, but he could feel her trembling.

"W-Well, actually..."

Her phone rang. Brooke flinched and drew back her hand.  
"Sorry, I gotta check. It could be important."

"Sure, no problem." He had all the time he needed, after all. There was no one around to interrupt their little chat.

But in the information age, things were different. Rick got a bad feeling the moment Brooke began to read. Her expression flickered and the blush faded so suddenly she looked almost too pale. Contrary to popular belief, Rick knew exactly how to read people. He just didn't bother telling anyone. Playing dumb was always the better strategy.

"Everything golden?"

Brooke stared at her phone for another second before she blinked and put it away. "Nobody's dying. That's a nice change."

Rick smiled, as if that had been funny. Maybe with enough gallows humor, it was. He didn't like the absent look the girl had all of a sudden. How old was she, anyway? It was almost impossible to tell, but she had to be his age. If she was a friend of Helen, maybe even a bit older.

"Does that mean you can spare this evening, maybe? Or whatever date you prefer." He pushed a stray lock out of her face. Ah, there was the blush again. Much better.

"I'd love to." She took a deep breath and pushed his hand away. It wasn't a slap, but it was also not _not_ a slap. "But maybe we should postpone this until the reason is something else than proving your charm."

Rick blinked at her, hand still half raised. "What?"

"I get it. I'm not a model. But if you think I'm easy prey, you are wrong. I have to get back to work now." She turned and walked to the door further down the long room. She hesitated before stepping through. "Helen says you're a nice guy. I think you are. But you might want to rethink your tactics. This isn't the fifties, and you're not James Bond." Then she vanished and the door shut with a quiet click. It might as well have been a gunshot.

Rick stared after her for several seconds before being able to move at all. He fought the urge to punch something, and ended up kicking the door open instead. It was a typical emergency room door that swung in both directions and didn't mind. The bang of it shutting wasn't satisfying at all.

"Fine!", Rick spat, not directed at anyone or anything in particular but the bleak hallway. His sneakers thudded on the plastic floor, but he wasn't running. That would have been too much like fleeing. "Be that way, Miss I'm too good for you! You'll regret that. Everyone will regret that. You should be _grateful_ I even bothered. I'll show you, and then you can come crawling back and-"

He continued cursing under his breath as he stormed back to the main complex. They'd all see their loss. He couldn't wait for the fear test to begin.

* * *

"Ow! Ouch! Argh, god frickin' dammit!"

"Oh, stop whining!", Brooke rebuked. She carefully continued her check-up, earning another growl and a string of amusingly harmless curses.

"Can't you be more careful, then?"

Brooke barely managed to convert her excited smile into a fake sweet one. She was a hopeless romantic. But like hell she would show that to him.

"Very heroic of you, punching that wall. Really, good technique. I mean, most people would break their knuckles, not their wrist, but you, you really... know how to handle this."

"Thanks a lot," Rick snapped. He didn't look at her for more than a moment. Thank God, he hadn't noticed the stutter. She could tell how awkward this was for him. Served him just right.

Not that it came as a big surprise. Those alpha male types always had the lowest pain tolerance.

"It's a clean fracture as far as I see, but I have to correct the position so it can heal properly."

There was a barely noticeable pause. "Uh-huh."

"No need to be scared," she said cheerfully. "It won't hurt for long."

"I ain't scared!", he protested. "Why would I? It's just a... a scratch."

"Didn't think a jock like you reads Shakespeare." Instead of a confused look, Rick stared down on his oddly angled wrist, avoiding a gaze Brooke would never have to courage to give him.

"Kinda sad that so many girls like jerks that bring them drama." Still no reaction. Brooke cleared her throat. Of all people she would be the one to talk about boys.

"I'll set the bones straight now and then you get a cast and in a few weeks it's gonna be golden again."

"You... Ya can do that? Are ya sure?"

Brooke hesitated. "I'm not a doctor, if you mean that. But..."

"Aside o' that, why are you the only one here? Every time somethin' happens it's Ben an' Helen who bring people here and you're taking care of it. Where's the real professionals?"

Brooke felt herself tense up so much her hands shook. She _was_ a professional. Technically.

But it was a valid point. She took a deep breath and slowly relaxed her hands.

"You're right, we don't have... real professionals here very often. The last time there was a real doctor called in was after Virgil's accident, because I was definitely not up for fixing something that severe. The director is quite... avaricious about everything."

"Oh." Rick scratched his neck. "Well, I guess... that's that then. Ya did this before, right?"

"...Yeah." Brooke looked him right into the eyes. They were very green, like dark leaves in the middle of summer. She smiled and hoped he didn't notice the lie.

"Hey, can I ask you something? What was the test like?"

Rick put on his best casual smile, except it was not casual at all right now. "Well, the beginning was pretty boring. Gladys jus' said I would sleep in that other room. Ah waited a bit, and no sign of anythin'. So I went to sleep and still nothin' had happened. I almost thought I'd missed the important part."

"Until you got dragged under the bed by a freaking robot arm," Brooke muttered.

His smile lost some of its already pale glow. "Yeah... That was a _bit_ unexpected. The vacuum delivery system's pretty cool though. No idea why we don't use that more often. Speakin' of which, _what_ happened after that?"

"You passed out from lack of oxygen and landed in the stasis chamber," Brooke replied wryly. "You really didn't know it was all simulated from that moment on?"

"No clue." He cringed when Brooke grabbed his arm close to the wrist and his hand with her other one, trying to figure out the best method. She wasn't a doctor. She would have to take it slow to get everything perfect. Was that even an option? Slow meant more painful. Maybe that _was_ an option.

"Actually, now that I think of it, that punch might not even be the cause of that fracture... you snapped the restraints. That shouldn't happen."

"Guess Ah'm jus' too strong."

Brooke nodded absently. It was too late to hide the smile. Since when was it this warm in here?

"I guess you are."

She hadn't expected him to be so... nice. He was still trying to play superman, but he had been pretty mad yesterday, according to Alyssa. She had expected him to be reserved or even condescending. Was it too much to ask for someone to actually change, just a tiny bit?

"What did you see in there?"

There was a long pause. "This 'n that. Gladys pretty much worked through all the common phobias. Heights, spiders, that kinda thing. Nothin' spectacular."

"Really?", Brooke taunted. It sounded just as unnatural as it felt. She was just no good at this kind of things. "Because there sure as hell was a reason you freaked out. And Gladys claims she knows exactly what you're afraid of now."

"What kinda bullshit-", Rick exploded and broke off with a very unmanly scream as Brooke pulled and put the bones in the place they belonged. For several seconds after that it was silent except for his rapid breathing. She could feel his pulse under her fingers, warm skin with fresh bruises slowly turning it purple. She held his broken wrist steady until he straightened up again.

"What. The fuck." His voice was still a little too high-pitched to be really his, but it could count as a boy in puberty, with some imagination applied.

Brooke smiled. "See, already over. And I won't tell anyone you screamed like a little girl."

Rick wanted to protest, but apparently realized there was no real way of doing so without making a fool of himself. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling with an expression constantly wavering between embarrassment, anger and... _something._ Resignation, maybe?

"Hold that still." Brooke went over to the table to get the cast ready. She might have underestimated how broad his wrists were. He _was_ a powerfully built man, after all.

"Remind me to never mess with you again. You have a way of getting back at people I really don't enjoy much."

She stopped and frowned at nothing in particular. "Excuse me?"

"You tryna tell me this ain't about yesterday?"

"Depends on whether you think anyone believes that ridiculous accent. You realize I'm from Texas, right?"

He shrugged audibly, but switched back to his natural speech pattern, which was as far away from Texas as Canada could be. "Good to know you got your priorities straight."

"It's your image, right? Being laughed at."

There was a long pause. "Pardon?"

Brooke returned to the stretcher and wrapped some gauze around his hand first, not putting too much pressure on any area, then put the plaster-soaked bandages on top. She kept her eyes trained on her work even when she spoke. "You can't bear being laughed at. That's your biggest fear. Every time you make a mistake or don't live up to your expectations you fear people calling you weak or something along those lines. That's a lot of pressure."

It was silent for almost a full minute, until Rick said: "Helen was right, you're hella smart."

Brooke carefully pressed the end of the bandage into the paste. "Okay, let's get that dried."

Rick managed a half-sarcastic smile. Seemed like the painkillers were finally kicking in. Of course, he had refused, saying he didn't need such things. But he had accepted the glass of water and not even mentioned if it tasted weird. "What, we got something for that? I thought you were so underequipped."

Brooke had to fight the drawer's attempts to oppose her, and finally managed to open it to get to its contents. They did need some new equipment, but she would certainly not be the one to go to the director for it. She waved her prize in his direction. "Blow Dryer."

"High tech," Rick said seriously. Brooke nodded, not nearly as good at acting, a bright grin on her face.

Why the hell was he so nice to her? Okay, he wasn't being an idiot over being rejected, that was good, but he hadn't meant it anyway.

The blow dryer was by far not state of the art, and its noise drowned any attempt at conversation. This would take ages, Brooke knew. Plaster didn't dry very fast, not without decent equipment. So she was basically all alone with her thoughts, brittle self-image, and the crush that she had rejected because he was an idiot. Guys like him and girls like her just weren't a thing that could happen.

The cast wasn't even half dry when the blow dryer decided to quit its long outlived time of existence in a rain of sparks. Brooke let out a squeal and dropped the tool. The height pulled the plug out of the wall, but it still exploded on the floor, shooting plastic parts and tiny flames at ankle level in all directions.

Brooke jumped, instinctively trying to avoid the shrapnel. Something wrapped around her waist and pulled her backwards. The motion pressed the breath out of her until she came to an abrupt halt, her feet dangling over the floor. She blinked down at the remains of the blow dryer, while wondering what in the world just happened in the kind of non-verbal way that kicked in after an adrenaline rush.

"Well, that was spectacular. I thought this place is rather made to go without action." Brooke tensed. Rick's voice was right next to her ear. She stared down, her eyes wandering over the blackened plastic splinters, and then down to the arm wrapped around her waist. He had pulled her into his lap, away from the floor and potential danger, as close to his muscular chest as possible.

Silence hung. Brooke stared down on the floor. Rick didn't seem to intend to let her go anytime soon. It was one of the times Brooke was acutely aware of those extra pounds she really wanted to drop, had for years, and never gotten around to because she was busy and loved the occasional comfort chocolate a bit too much.

"Thank you," she said eventually. He had to hear her racing heart. The whole school had to hear it. Brooke slid off the stretcher they were sitting on. Her feet crunched on plastic as she walked to the closet to get that mess cleaned up. Well, it had been long overdue anyway.

"I guess I'll have to get mine, then," she said to herself. Speaking of hair. She hadn't wanted to say anything, but...

"I like your new style."

Rick didn't look as pleased as she had expected him to. He ran his hand through the messy green strands hanging into his eyes. They were a bit lighter than his eyes, but matched the natural brown color that had remained on the sides.

"Uh, thanks," he muttered.

"You're not possibly a fan of Jack?"

"Actually, yeah, but... long story. Mostly my siblings being little monsters again." He caught her confused glance. Brooke got the dust shovel out and began to swipe up the remains of the blow dryer.

"You need help with that?" Rick was about to stand up, but Brooke waved the brush at him in a vaguely threatening motion until he sat back down.

"Fine..." He scratched his beard and stared into space for a few seconds. "Julie thought it was funny. I'm not even sure how they managed that. Sneaking stuff into my shampoo or whatever. Little weasel."

"That's not a nice way to talk about your sister."

He let out a quiet snicker. "We're family. I can say stuff like that. Besides, it's the truth."

Brooke nodded and disposed of the suicidal piece of technology. "Don't... don't go anywhere, okay?"

"Yeah whatevs..."

Brooke almost ran all the way to her room, her heart pumping, cheeks red. She shut the door behind her with more force than necessary. _Deep breaths. In. Out. Calm down. You're doing well._

It took her several moments to relax, but the technique she had discovered worked well. Praise the internet.

Now that her thoughts weren't running in panicked circles and the winged parasites in her stomach had settled down a bit, she could focus again.

The first clear thought was actually devoted to another duty: She needed to check on Frannie later on. The burns were healing off well, but the girl was still suffering. Pairing her up with troublemakers like Nigel and David was an uncommon solution to say the least, and Brooke still had a bad feeling about it, but the guitar lessons actually seemed to help. More so, and strangely, Frannie had grown fond of the two boys and even lost her fear of dogs to the point she spent every free minute with them.

Not that it was particularly hard to like a cheery ball of fur that licked people instead of biting when he didn't like something and always either wanted food or cuddles.

Secondly, she needed to talk to Helen. They hadn't seen each other for three days. It was just unusual, seen how small Aperture was if you came down to it. Helen hadn't been at any classes they took together. She was a responsible and tenacious student, despite her engagement in basically everything else. It could only mean she was seriously sick.

And lastly, time to get back to the infirmary and finish treating Him. Capital H.

Brooke had already covered half of the distance when she noticed she had thought of everything except grabbing the blow dryer. Sighing, she returned to her room and then began the way back, just on the verge of running.

She heard the voiced before getting even close to the doors. Boy's and girl's dorms were separated by a foyer-style room with stairs leading down to the rest of the building, the main hall and the cafeteria.

Brooke hesitated. This wasn't just bad taste it would also be embarrassing if she got caught. But her curiosity and fear of meeting the others outside won. She opened the door just a little bit to peek through.

Why in the world had Rick followed her? Or had he just gotten bored and decided to go about his business without waiting for her? Either way, he couldn't go anywhere because Henry was blocking his path.

Henry Mortimer was not someone Brooke wanted to go up against. He was as tall as Rick and about equally muscular, while being about ten times more mean. He was in most of her classes, but she never really talked to him and that was a blessing. The only time she got in contact with him was when David or Nigel thought it was a good idea to prank him. No major injuries had come out of it – yet, except for a black eye and a cut on the cheekbone on the side of the younger kids. Otherwise, Henry kept mostly to himself except for his occasional mean comments, and listened to heavy metal music loud enough to be heard through his headphones. How he wasn't deaf by now was a mystery.

"So, you two are all lovey-dovey now, huh?", Henry asked with a wide grin. He flicked a long, almost white strand out of his face.

Rick wanted to cross his arms, but reversed the motion half way when he realized it wouldn't work.

"Not really."

"Oh, right, I forgot, you're on the other side of the river. Mexican girl doesn't know that, does she? Or you can team up with Virgil." Henry sniffed and exaggerated a shudder.

"At least I'm not an asshole to him about it!", Rick snapped. His unhurt hand clenched into a fist. Henry looked as confused as Brooke felt when Rick suddenly relaxed and laughed. "You know what, Henry, I don't even care. I know who I am and don't need to act like a jerk over it. You're just a troll. Hey, did you make the cast for the musical by the way?"

Henry stared at him and his pale eyes narrowed. Rick shrugged his shoulders. "Thought so. Anyway, I gotta get this dried. See ya!"

Brooke scrambled away from the door and did her best to pretend she had just been coming down the corridor instead of listening in on them. Rick grinned at her. He didn't stop but walked her back to her room. Brooke was too flustered and concentrating on her act to do anything about it. She heard Henry curse in the distance and then stomp off to where ever. Hopefully not to cause any more trouble. She didn't have the nerves for that now.

"S-Sorry for the mess," she stammered. Rick looked over the room, with a few clothes hanging over the chair, several piles of books and a CD collection.

 _Okay Brooke, be professional._ "Uh, okay, let's get your cast dried, okay? Just... sit down somewhere." Rick, being himself, of course sat down on the bed. Well, there was an electric socket at least. Brooke didn't look at him. The plug really didn't want to get in. It might have been because her hand was shaking, but who really knew? While she was fighting with the simple task of plugging in a blow dryer, Rick picked up a book from the pile next to the bed.

"You like the Dresden Files?" He opened the page she had marked and scanned the text. "Death Masks. That's the first one I read. ...Oh. That scene." Brooke knew very well what it was. And she didn't want to discuss it with a guy like him. She was already blushing again.

Rick was unsuccessfully fighting a grin and put the book back where it had been. "Tell me when you're at volume eight."

Brooke finally got the blow dryer plugged in and scrambled to her feet. "Uh, yeah, sure. I... didn't know you like reading." He just shrugged his shoulders. For a while, they didn't speak again over the noise.

Eventually, Rick tapped her wrist. She nodded to signal her attention.

"You don't have to stand like that, you know," he said.

Brooke shifted on her feet, but kept on working. "What do you mean?"

Rick waved at her general position. The bed was relatively low and she had to stand bent over even though he was holding his hand fairly high already. Her back protested when she straightened up.

"No, it's fine-" She sat in his lap again. How had that happened? Well, admittedly the position was more comfortable. It was just incredibly warm in here.

Time seemed to stretch until every second took an hour. She didn't dare to move too much expect for the rhythmic back and forth over the cast and steadying his hand. Eventually, they were done. Rick moved his fingers and grimaced.

"Thanks."

Brooke hastily slid off his lap and began rolling in the blow dryer while simultaneously trying to adjust her shirt. Why did women's shirts always slide up at the back? That was just not fair. When she straightened up, she found Rick giving her a contemplative look.

"What?", she asked in a sharper tone than intended.

He looked away and scratched his arm. His other hand had taken the breakout better, but he would still be sore and bruised for days. "I'm... sorry. For yesterday. For being so, uh, brash. That was inappropriate."

Brooke blushed. She just couldn't help it. This was a dream. Or a nightmare. It sure as hell wasn't reality. "T-Thank you. It's okay. I mean, I accept your apology."

Rick got up and stretched. Brooke wasn't as tall as Helen, but she wasn't small either. Maybe she should try running. That was supposed to ease tension and was healthy.

"My offer still stands though."

She blinked. "What?"

"You know the, well let's not call it a date. We can watch a movie or something. Or even better, Tim has this cool projector that simulates the milky way. The park is pretty well fit to use it. Don't think we get a good look at the real stars in this weather."

"What," Brooke repeated. In a minute he'd burst out laughing. He would never ask her on a date, not as long as there was anyone else available. She wasn't that easy to seduce. She'd rather keep her self-confidence than sacrifice it for the impossible, thank you very much.

"Sure, I'd love to," she heard herself say.

Rick beamed. "Awesome. Okay, I'll pick you up at, let's say nine? Yeah? Great. Should I bring snacks?"

"No thank you."

"Hm, okay. Super. I'll see you then." He was very controlled and mature when he kissed her on the cheek and stormed out. As mature as a green pineapple with a giant goofy grin.

Brooke stared at the door. Her heart wasn't hammering. It was so slow she should probably pass out in a few seconds. She fell down on the bed. The ceiling was blank, like everywhere in the facility. Except maybe she'd see something different tonight.

"¡Santo Cielos!" She muttered. "What did I just get myself into?"


	15. Did I ever tell you

What is it, darling? Find it hard to sleep? Come here, you'll feel better then. It _is_ quite cold in here, after all.

Oh, I see. How... How am I supposed to know? I was sleeping and the noise woke us. You read the papers, right? I don't know much more either.

...You don't believe me, do you? I guess I always was a terrible liar. If I had been better at it, people would have liked me more when I first came here.

Heh, you're right dear, maybe we wouldn't be here then. It's better this way.

...I was limping when I came back? Well, I suppose. Why is that a surprise?

I'm not avoiding the question. But I doubt the story will help you sleep.

Sigh. If you insist.

…

Alright then.

But it's true, I really was sleeping. It was the middle of the night, after all. Katarina and I had spent the evening with a movie and then gone to bed. I guess we were just trying to distract ourselves. Father was on a business trip and was supposed to come back some time the next day. I don't even know why Kata bothers... she could be at uncle Nikolaj's house, but instead she stays with me.

Huh? Yes, maybe you're right. Family goes some way, doesn't it?

You're not jealous, right? No? Good... she's not into me for sure. Otherwise it would be kind of pointless to oppose my Father's plans, right?

Anyway, at some point, I woke up. I have no idea why. Kata's a pretty deep sleeper, so I got up and thought I could get a glass of water and go right back to sleep afterwards. It's funny, really, I was so tired I completely forgot what a walk that would be. The kitchen is downstairs, all the way on the other side of the house. That's not exactly close, not for me anyway.

Anyway, I went out into the hall and ran right into Father.

I try to forget about him most of the time, you know? It's easier to forget people like that exist. You got to move on at some point, isn't that what everyone says? That moment it all came flooding back. Goodbye sleepiness.

It was dark, except for the lights outside. You've seen him, he could as well have been a demon, there to drag me down into the pits of hell. ...In my head, anyway.

"Good evening, Father," I said. I'm surprised I even managed that much. I could barely understand myself. "I was just-"

"It's good to see you," he told me. "We need to talk."

I think my heart just skipped a beat or five. I think what he meant was that it was good to catch me alone, when everybody else was sleeping. He always was more careful when other people were around. In public, I mean. My mother isn't a significant factor, of course.

"Y-Yes?", I got out.

"It's about your wedding next year."

...

Yes, that was exactly my reaction. I had been more or less sure that Uncle Nikolaj closed that topic for the time being.

"I've scheduled the ceremony for the the 25th of March," Father told me. "You can even invite that girl, if you insist." That would be you. I'm not sure what I expected, or what he expected. I mean, sure, I'll invite my girlfriend to my own wedding that I don't want. Just make it even more painful for both of us.

I said No.

Alright, it wasn't a very firm No, more a quiet and kind of shaky one, but still.

The hallway got really quiet, and my whole back started crawling. I couldn't see his face, it was too dark for that, but I could _feel_ him staring at me. And dear God, I knew I was dead that moment.

"What was that?", he asked. We were whispering already, but that growl... It was the same all over again, ever since my childhood. No matter what I do, it ends the same way.

He grabbed my shoulder. I swear I could hear bones creak. I barely felt it though, I was too focused on keeping on standing at all. My legs were trembling badly. I'm not sure if the braces would have even helped, seeing how the floor had just vanished into a black pit, but still.

I- I think, I think he was actually smiling. That made it even worse. I knew that tone. He pretended to sound all friendly and sweet and that's when... when I always got punished the hardest.

"You didn't actually think you were going back to that school to get more silly ideas into your head, did you?"

I couldn't say anything. I wished I could, but I just... couldn't. I didn't _want_ to obey him. It just happens.

...

Don't be silly, I'm not crying.

But... maybe you- you could keep stroking my hair? That feels nice. ...Thank you.

I said, "But Uncle Nikolaj told me-"

He squeezed my shoulder. You should think I would be good at standing pain by now. I'm not.

When I was a child, I always used to think he actually liked me, as his son, his heir. That he was just choleric and couldn't control himself well. Kids always think the best of their parents, I suppose. The best in these circumstances, at least.

"What Nikolaj says is redundant. You will do as I tell you. I'll schedule an appointment to get these ridiculous... scribbles off your arms tomorrow."

I don't know what sparked it. Maybe it was all the hard work put into my tattoos, and how enthusiastic _he_ was when we talked about it, and... you seemed really proud of me back then, and Katarina, and a lot of other people told me how great it looked. I loved these tattoos.

After all that time the reason I finally stood up for myself was because I didn't want to give up my style... heh. That's ridiculous, isn't it?

"No you won't," I said. This time, my voice was just a tiny bit shaky. I shook off his hand and took a step back. I'm not sure what I thought that would help.

"What was that?", Father repeated. That growl is stuff of nightmares, but I was... I was just so _angry_ , I didn't even care. It all came welling up, all the years of fear and dread and pain, I didn't... I couldn't take it anymore. I was done, once and for all.

I stared up at him, however I managed that. "My tattoos stay," I told him. I wasn't getting particularly loud, but also not whispering anymore. "I'm going back to Aperture, and I will sure as hell _not_ marry Katarina. You're not running my life. Not anymore."

He slapped me. I think. I don't remember anything concrete. I heard a bang, and I could see stars sparkling and then I hit the floor. I'm pretty sure I tasted blood, and my face really hurt all of a sudden. Enough indications, I suppose.

It's all kind of blurry from that moment on. I tried to get up, I.. I think at least, but I wasn't fast enough. Father just... set his foot down on my leg and began putting weight on it. He wasn't even angry... it was... it was... it _hurt_... and... I... I just...

...

He said, "You will do as I tell you." He enjoyed seeing me squirm on the floor. That... that sadistic bastard.

I imagined how the old fractures would just break again, because they're not as... what's the word... sturdy? That doctor said so right after the accident. If I wasn't careful enough, they would just... just fall apart. That... picture scares me, Mel. When we were training, every damn time I walked anywhere, I had to think of that possibility.

Hey, you... you don't have to do that the whole time, käraste. I mean, I'm not complaining...

…

He didn't even say anything for a while, I don't know for how long. It felt like ages, but I suppose it was not much more than a minute. He just slowly increased the pressure. When I fell, my legs were crossed, so they were at a pretty bad angle. You don't need much power to break something with enough leverage.

I screamed. I couldn't help it, it just... it just hurt so badly. It was like the whole damn "accident" all over again.

"You're not going anywhere," Father told me. "A man in a wheelchair will be a good bureaucrat, but very bad at traveling." He smiled. I just knew he did. "We're wealthy, you won't be too uncomfortable. Just forget all about those silly ideas of America. Katarina always had the looks and brains to become a nurse. Where else to start than her own husband?"

I... I was crying, mostly from the pain, but I was also... I was furious. It wasn't right. He didn't have any right to do this to me. He didn't have the right to do this to any of us.

...My mother was there, in the doorway down the hall, in her sleeping dress. She was just watching us, with that... that awful, pathetic sad expression, as if she'd actually care what he did to us. To me. As if she'd try to do something about it.

Huh? Oh, handkerchief. Thanks.

…

I hated her most of my childhood. She was always there, watching, with that sorrowful face, and never did anything. Afterwards, she used to hug me and tell me it would be alright. When I was seven or so, I couldn't take that hypocrisy anymore. I... despised her touch, almost as much as Father's.

So I looked at her, and tried to make her feel guilty, while I was trying not to scream again and my vision turned red. If Katarina got hurt in this mess, I'd never forgive myself.

I noticed the startled expression on mother's face before I realized what was happening. Katarina had woken up after all, and...

She was trying to defend me.

Heh. She's more brave than I ever was.

She was yelling something, like, like "get away from him" or something like that, I don't know. My Norwegian isn't even close to perfect. Kind of sad considering I'm half Norwegian myself.

Father slapped her so hard she stumbled against the wall, but she got him off balance and his foot slipped off my legs. I wanted to get away, as fast as possible, but I couldn't. I didn't feel anything except as if somebody had poured hot water over my legs. I was trapped there, helpless, on the floor, like a worthless piece of trash.

...

...Father yelled something and tried to slap her again and Katarina pushed him away. I'm... not sure what happened. Father was turning to me and he lost his balance and, I think he tripped over me, or the carpet, I don't even know. I think he might have kicked me, but...

Suddenly he was gone and we only heard a scream and an impact.

It was deadly quiet. I could hear my own heartbeat, and Katarina's breathing, and... I think I even heard my mother crying over the whole length of the hallway. After all the shouting and fighting, it was completely silent. Katarina just stared down the staircase for ages and then collapsed to the floor. She wasn't even crying, she was too scared for that, I think. She just muttered to herself in Norwegian. I think it was only "Oh God, what did I do?" all over.

And I thought, "How do we get out of that mess now?"

"Rävi." I jumped at the name. My mother called me that when I was little. You could translate it to Foxy, I think. Because of my red hair, obviously. She knelt down next to me and hugged me. I suppose I was just too numb to do anything. I didn't even push her away. I'm not sure if I wanted to. "My fox-haired angel." Another nickname I didn't hear in years. It's a bit ridiculous, right? Even for a small child.

Mother grabbed my arm and somehow got me standing. She's stronger than she looks like, apparently. ...I don't even know my own family anymore.

"Katarina, move, we have to clean this up." I've never heard her so determined. She was always so scared and quiet, never made demands, or gave orders. But I suppose she's still a noblewoman somewhere in there, and she was raised to make decisions.

Katarina got up and Mother brought us into the bathroom. It's right on the same hallway. The light was painfully bright, and it took minutes until I could actually see anything clearly.

Mother told us to get cleaned up and then go back to bed. After that she went out, to make some phone calls, I suppose.

I had bitten my lip when Father slapped me and Katarina had a nose bleed. We cleaned that up and Kata put a cooling pack on my leg. I was already getting a bruise, but at least it was only on one side.

We got back into my room after that and tried to keep quiet. The ambulance came and people were talking, and I think my mother was crying. She must have called Uncle Nikolaj right away because he arrived only a bit after the EMTs. They took Father away and Mother went with them.

Uncle Nikolaj came upstairs once everyone else was gone. Katarina told him what had happened, or at least what she knew. She had been crying the whole time since we set a foot into my room.

Self-defense or not, Kata had pushed him. She'd be heavily punished if that ever came out, aside of the bad publicity. I tried to tell her nobody would suspect anything, it would look like an accident, but I guess I just can't lie convincingly, no matter how hard I try.

"Your brother is right," Uncle Nikolaj said. "It was an accident and it will look like one."

Katarina stopped crying on the spot. That was the first time he called me her brother. We always said we might as well be siblings, but none of the adults ever acknowledged it.

Kata wanted to object, but he just shushed her by laying a hand on her shoulder. Father would scare me when he did that, but Uncle Nikolaj isn't like him. I mean, I don't have to tell you, you met him. He's so much nicer. I really wonder how they can even be brothers.

"You two were sleeping. You have been busy the whole day and were very tired. You didn't notice anything until you were woken by the racket downstairs. Of course you're shocked, and worried, but you will not make any statements. You have nothing to say."

He looked at me. "Tyra said your leg is in a bad condition. Do you think you can wait until tomorrow to get it checked?"

I nodded. It would just be too obvious and the press would be there once they got wind of what happened. I mean, I could be useful _once_ , and if that was by just waiting this out for a while, so be it.

Don't look like that. I don't react well to anything stronger than aspirin, but it was bearable. I'm still around, see?

Hm? Ah yes, that... I called you in the middle of the afternoon without an apparent reason. I just... just wanted to hear your voice. It helped get my mind off things.

We stayed in my room until Mother came back in the morning. Katarina fell asleep at some point, but I couldn't. It wasn't so much the pain, just the whole gravity of what had happened.

If Father ever woke up from that, and recovered, he would kill me, without a doubt.

Mother looked... tired. Too thin. And old. But somehow... more alive than before. I don't know how to describe it. Now that Father was gone, a huge weight just... vanished.

She sat down on the bed and asked how I was. I said I was fine, more or less. She nodded and asked us to come down to breakfast.

That was the weirdest breakfast I ever had. It had always been stiff and uncomfortable around my parents, especially with Father looming at one end of the table, but the silence this time was... awkward. Like nobody really knew what they were supposed to do.

Father had suffered severe trauma to the neck and hit his head on the stairs, Mother told us eventually. "They don't know if he will wake up, or when. If so, he might have some... issues with moving. They can't tell how bad the damage to the spine is or if he will recover mentally."

As I said, awkward silence. Eventually, Katarina muttered: "I pray to God he doesn't."

Nobody said anything. But I have the feeling I'm not the only one who agreed.

After that we went to the hospital to get my leg checked. The old fractures had some minor cracks again but nothing too terrible. The doctor looked pretty confused, though, and asked how the hell I had managed to walk at all. I told him aspirin was working really well for me. Ha.

...

That was it. Uncle Nikolaj contacted the director, and two weeks later I got on the plane to the states.

Are you happy now?

Oh, of course. Yes, Father woke up a few days ago. Mother called me. She was... relieved. He doesn't remember what happened, he can barely talk, really. If he gets into rehab he might be able to walk with a stick some day.

Am I a bad person for wishing he'll never recover? He doesn't deserve it! He just doesn't... doesn't...

Jävla.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't get so upset.

Now since we're already up, I have some questions too.

...

How did you know to call me that day?

You know what I mean. A few days before Father's... accident. You called me, even though you should have been in class.

Oh no, no, no, don't cry, I didn't want that. Alright, let me ask something else first. Just a second, where did I put them... ah here.

Um... this, this isn't a proposal. That would be a bit early, right, haha... Ahem. Mother said there was a tradition in our family that when you think you have found your soulmate, you give them this. If they accept, it's good luck, because... I think something about the old gods protecting you? Odin and so on? Mother is one of those 3%, you know.

Heh, as far as I can tell she might have made it up. But still. She was supposed to give it to her husband at some point. I guess that didn't work out.

Hm? Yes, the second ring would be for me.

So... I guess this is a sort of proposal after all. Do you... do you accept? I mean, you don't have to, don't feel pressured into anything. I'm not really superstitious anyway...

Ahem. So, no more beating around the bush. Will you be my, my best friend, my soulmate?

….

…..

…...

Mel?

* * *

You're an engineer. I see why you wouldn't believe in ghosts and visions. Or Gods.

I was raised to be an athlete, to achieve what my step-mother couldn't do, all because I received the "gift" of endurance from whatever God.

In comparison, I would prefer your old gods over the one that was supposed to watch me. They don't need any excuses. They're not all-powerful, or merciful. They're just as flawed as all of us.

No, don't. Stay there. I'm glad you're here. There was a time when I thought the next time I'd see you was on a funeral invitation. If I had even gotten one.

I fell asleep in class, you know? That never happened to me before. I wasn't tired, I just... fell asleep. And I dreamed. Of you.

You were standing on a platform. It was dark, and you looked out over the lights down there. I never saw Stockholm and I don't think I'd recognize it in real life, but I suppose there's only so many possibilities where you could be. God knows how you got up there. You were in bad pain, I could see it in the way your legs were trembling, and how pale you were. But you just stood there, staring down at the lights. They were beautiful and you.. you simply observed them, for a long time. Then you took off the braces. You looked at your phone one last time before dropping it on the walkway.

And then you jumped.

Shush. You talk so much, now it's my turn.

It was ninety foot, easily. That fall would have killed anyone. But not you. You survived.

I finished school in my dream. I went to a sports college, again with a scholarship. And some day I was at the Olympics. I won the Bronze medal. Track running. My step-mother wasn't fully satisfied, of course, but I was proud.

And then I saw you. You had come to see me. After all these years.

We were not even thirty yet, but you looked much older. Pale and tired, and... (dead)

You were in a wheelchair. The fall didn't manage to kill you, but it was enough to paralyze you from the waist down. Katarina was with you, and your two kids.

Heh, I guessed you'd like to know about that. It was a boy and a girl. Really sweet children, very polite. The little girl had your red hair and freckles, and she even smiled like you used to. They grew up learning Swedish, Norwegian and English, the little boy told me. I don't remember their names, though. Sorry.

...Your arms were scarred. Whoever removed the tattoos didn't do a good job.

You rolled up to me, and smiled at me and I hated it, because it wasn't a smile, it was just a few muscles moving as they were supposed to by social convention. "Congratulations, Melanie," you said. I smiled back, and thanked you. I tried to hug you, but you barely returned it, as if you didn't have the strength for even the simplest gesture of affection. I looked you in the eyes, and... and...

Damn it, I... I... (Get yourself together!)

It was horrible. You were looking at me, but the man I knew was gone. You _did_ manage to kill yourself, even though you survived the fall. Your humor, your wits, your adorable silliness, your passion, your empathy, it was all gone. There was only a shell left, doing what it was told to do. A soulless, broken _thing._ A- a servant.

I could tell you cared about the kids. But there was no emotion behind it. It was a duty. You wanted to give them the life you couldn't have, because it was the right thing to do. And even that was falling apart.

(I can't tell him about the bruises the kids had.)

I woke up in the middle of class. I felt really sick, or as if I'd just start crying. I needed to talk to you. On the spot. So I asked to go to the bathroom and called you right away.

...I think somebody followed me. Helen, maybe. She's usually the one they send to check if everything is okay. I didn't exactly make a casual exit.

It took ages to get a decent signal, and I ran the whole way. I was so scared I would be too late. I ended up in front of the cafe eventually. Julie was in class, so I could be reasonably alone.

Don't say anything. I could hear the background noise when we talked. It was windy up there. And cold. You were out of breath. It must have been excruciating, all those stairs.

 _Katarinahissen._ Is it a coincidence that it has the same name as your sister? How did you get in there, anyway? It has been closed for years.  
...Your uncle has a key. Of course. Where do you people not have at least one hand in?

...

You're not saying anything. That makes it a Yes.

You looked on your phone. Why?

…

...Really? _Really_?

Do you think a goodbye would have helped me in any way, dimwit?

...Don't thank me. You're the one who did the actual fighting. I just provided a bit of support.

Maybe your mother is right. Let's hope those old gods are as helpful as she says.

Those are runes, right? Do you know what they say?

No? You should ask her about it.

Did you really think I would say No, silly? Here, put yours on as well.

You're really sure those weren't for us from the beginning?

...

What in- Hey, don't, haha, that tickles, stop it, silly! Hahaha... get your hands off me, you! Dammit, Virgil, stop, ahahaha!

…

...

…We're going to be so dead tomorrow. I can't sleep now for sure.

Hm. It's cold in here, isn't it? What could we do about that?

...

Wait. Did you hear that?

Shit! (No, no, no, nononono...) Do something! (Too late.)

Um... hey... h-hello, Sir... we were just... Director. Of course.

(Damn it! ...This is so humiliating.) Can we at least get dressed?


End file.
